


The Relic

by ghanimajade



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 232,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghanimajade/pseuds/ghanimajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**UPDATED** see notes<br/>15 years after the events of Trespasser the Inquisition is still as full capacity, answering to the Devine herself and still trying stop the lingering threat from the ancient Elf, Solas; his plans to sunder the world continuously thwarted by the interference of his former lover, Inquisitor Khrystabel Lavellan. The Inquisitor must juggle the very real threat from Solas and from Tevinter threatening war on the South, a powerful ancient Relic, and the love life of her daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denerim

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome to my newest edition. This story has been in the works for a while now and originally had a different plot but thanks to the best Dragon Age DLC ever, Trespasser, it underwent a major overhaul. This story has a lot of characters both from the game and originals that I created. It also has A LOT of spoilers from Trespasser...you are warned. 
> 
> It is a work in progress so please be patient and by all means give me as much feedback as you like, I'm always up for answering questions and open to new ideas. 
> 
> ***THIS HAS BEEN UPDATED*** I made a change involving three characters and that is reflected in the tags. It Begins with chapter two and changes relationships. I tried to make Fenris and the Inquisitor work but I just wasn't feeling it so I switched to the back up. It doesn't change the story line just some relationship scenes.

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Prologue

Khrystabel felt odd, it wasn't because she was standing in front of the Exalted Council, no, she'd lost half of her left arm to the magic that created the Anchor. Solas stopped it from killing her but couldn't save her arm. It felt strange and was going to be hard to get used to but that was a problem for later. Another thing Solas took from her, she'd gotten used to her lack of vallaslin and in time she'd get used to this. Khrys was a small Dalish Elf born to Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches. To say she was small was an understatement, she was barely 5 foot and a hay bale weighed more. Her white hair was pulled into a tight proper bun and was a stark contrast to the black, white, and red of the formal Inquisition uniform.

"The Inquisition will remain at Skyhold at its full capacity," Khrys stated and could see the nobles from Orlais and Fereldan squirm but Gaspard, Alistair, and Lydia remained silent. "The Inquisition has always been a neutral party and will remain so."

"We understand the Inquisitions importance, Inquisitor," Alistair assured, he was fine with the organizations presence as it had saved his Kingdom twice and all of Thedas. The problem was his nobles, Crestwood and Redcliffe were in an uproar over the huge army that straddled the Orlesian and Fereldan boarder and held considerable ground in both countries. "But Arl Teagan is not wrong. You can remain in Fereldan but you must give back Caer Bronach in Crestwood and reduce your presence in Redcliffe. You can keep Grand Forest Villa and Mage's Keep and you may establish a permanent presence in Denerim. The Blades of Hessairin may remain on the Storm Coast so long as Highever deems it fit." Khrys simply listened to Alistair speak; he was a good King…a little goofy at times but a good man. "In the Follow Mire, you may keep the Hargrave ruin and restore it to its former glory if you wish."

Not an unreasonable concession and Khrys nodded in agreement. "Of course, Your Grace," she replied and Alistair groaned, he hated being called that.

"I have not forgotten your tireless efforts to save my Empire, Mistress Lavellan, the Inquisition is always welcome in the Empire of Orlais, no stipulations are necessary, Dear Lady," Gaspard said, and Alistair made no attempt to hide his eye roll. He'd been competing with Gaspard for two years now. "You are more than welcome to remain at Suledin Keep at your full capacity for so long as you deem it necessary. Orlais has not forgotten the debt that is owed to the Inquisition and my debt to you personally."

Dorian was standing by the door, or rather leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest. He'd returned from Minrathous and it wasn't nearly soon enough. It had been a rough two years for him and he couldn't wait to return to the Inquisition but now his father had died and that prompted another return to Minrathous. Honestly the entire time he'd been in Tevinter all he wanted to do was come back to Skyhold. He missed Khrys and strangely enough Iron Bull too. He'd been invited to the Exalted Council as the Tevinter ambassador, he grumbled about it but it was a way for him to get back to the Inquisition. He'd rather be here than in the bickering, squabbling Magisterium. _"Kiss ass,"_ he thought sharply with a stifled snort.

To her credit, Khrys didn't say what she was thinking because it mirrored Dorian's thoughts. Gaspard was a great ally but he did tend to kiss her ass more than anyone else in Thedas. "You're too kind, Your Majesty."

"We would ask one more thing of you actually, as the Wardens have been expelled from Orlais we do understand that you have a number of Wardens in your ranks," Gaspard went on. "if you would allow those Wardens to man Griffon Wing Keep in the Approach it would put the minds of those worried about another Blight at ease."

Khrys nodded but the number of Wardens she had in her ranks amounted to about ten. She'd need more, far more.

"The Fereldan Wardens would happily garrison Griffon Wing for you, Emperor Gaspard, Lady Inquisitor; you have but only to ask. We are allies after all," Lydia Theirin stated from the floor. The Warden-Commander of Fereldan was also the Queen of Fereldan, she was the love of Alistair's life, and Mage or not Alistair married her. She had noble blood as she was the daughter of Bryce Cousland, sent to Kinloch Hold at age eight when her power manifested. The fact that she was a Blood Mage was well hidden given that it would be one more issue about them getting married. Alistair loved her ability to thumb her nose at the nobles and the Chantry when they said she couldn't marry the man she loved. It was a hilarious sight watching her rail away at the Chantry and his Advisors giving them every reason as to why it was none of their business who Alistair married and if he chose her they could give their best shot in trying to stop them. They also really hated the idea that she was still serving as a Warden, again nose thumbing. Going to war with the Hero of Fereldan and her love was the last thing Fereldan needed to do. "The Inquisition fought to save the Wardens from Corypheus so we will help in any way we can."

 _"Boy she can kiss ass with the best of them,"_ Dorian thought, he'd been silent for the entire talk. As the Tevinter Ambassador he had the right to be there but he didn't have anything to say. Tevinter could shove it; he was here for her that's it.

Gaspard looked at her and smiled beneath his mask with a nod. "Yes, of course, My Queen, I thank you. King Alistair, your wife is truly magnificent," he accepted smoothly, the Orlesian charm showing and Alistair shook his head, but knew all too well the type of woman he married.

All in all this Council was going better than she would have thought. It had been delayed and moved around about a hundred times while she headed off the Qunari threat and Solas' threat but Gaspard, Alistair, and Lydia gave her the benefit of the doubt. Coming back missing half her arm with a very real threat from her former lover was also a big indicator that she wasn't lying.

Alistair and Gaspard both told their nobles to shut the hell up and sit down which didn't win any medals but it did lessen the load that was weighing on Khrys. Now it was Leliana's turn to speak, still seeing Leliana as the Divine was strange sight, of course she didn't go by Leliana now…she was Victoria and that didn't seem right to anyone. Alistair still couldn't call her Victoria, and like Khrys, kept calling her Leliana until they both just gave up trying to correct it.

"Inquisitor Lavellan, the Inquisition has the full support of the Chantry to do what is necessary to contain any threats to Thedas and the Chantry," she stated and the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Her statement was bound to be unpopular considering the sheer size and influence the Inquisition was. They were a power in their own right that could rival any kingdom on its boarders.

"The Kingdom of Fereldan supports this also," Alistair added from his position to the left of Leliana.

"And Orlais' as well, My Lady," Gaspard echoed.

The murmuring in the chamber grew steadily louder as those for disbanding the Inquisition did not hear what they wanted.

"You are to remain neutral in dealings with Thedas' kingdoms. A Council will be called at a later date to discuss further details as to the Inquisition's role and establish oversight. I declare the Exalted Council adjourned," Leliana ordered hearing the voices of angry people getting louder and louder. Cullen's sheer presence was normally enough to make people think twice about being stupid, he wasn't a small guy and bore a striking resemblance to a Lion when he was about to lose his temper. Lydia's presence was also a deterrent, the Hero of Fereldan, she killed countless dragons, Darkspawn, the Architect, and the Mother…not exactly the person that someone wanted to tangle with.

Dorian kept a watchful eye on Khrys; she was his only friend, he was sure of that. She never judged him, even Bull judged him from time to time but Khrys simply shrugged and kept flirting with him. "Nobody's perfect," she always said to him. Tevinter or not it flattered him to know that she trusted him completely and that was something he'd never betray. He'd rather die before hurting her in anyway. It was hard enough for him to see her with the disintegrating left arm after she stumbled back through the Eluvian. He carried her back through the network and could still hear her half-conscious sobs that weren't entirely caused by the pain in her arm. Cole babbled uncontrollably on the way back about love and pain and duty. When Cole babbled like that around Khrys it usually was related to that fucking Elf. The physical and emotional pain she was in, and had been in for quite some time, was because of Solas or Fen'Harel, whatever he was calling himself, and it was just one more reason he had to kill that bastard when he saw him again.

Since he brought her back to the Winter Palace he didn't stray far, he was there at her bedside and stayed there until she woke up hours later. Her arm from the elbow down was lost, it disintegrated in the form of the familiar Fade rift material he'd sifted through during the War…it sickened him and angered him like he'd never been angry before.

 

Dorian never went back to Tevinter after the Exalted Council, for good anyway; he visited to take care of business but never stayed more than a month. All he'd wanted for most of his life was to get a seat in the Magisterium, and now that he took over his father's position he didn't want it. He and his father may not have had the best relationship but he knew his father had been assassinated. He'd had enough of Tevinter. He may not have liked the rustic side of Skyhold but he loved being around Khrys, she made him a better person and he liked that. He also took a leap and asked something of Khrys that shocked her and himself too; almost a year after the Exalted Council he'd asked Khrys to have a child with him. She was more than a little surprised to hear him ask that but she was the only one that he trusted enough for such a thing and the logistics of doing such a thing were hilarious in its own right given his sexual preference. It was strange but it wasn't the strangest thing in Skyhold.

 

Chapter One: Denerim

When Dorian first came south seventeen years ago he found Fereldan and Orlais so alien it made him homesick, now it was still alien to him but he'd gotten used to it. He missed some things about Tevinter, the social gatherings, the freedom that mages enjoyed, one or two people as well but he loved being at Skyhold with the only person he really counted as a friend, Khrys. She had insisted that he had more friends than just her but there was a special bond between them. He didn't typically leave Skyhold but after receiving a letter from King Alistair inviting him to come to Denerim he couldn't very well refuse. It was shocking honestly, it had been a while since he saw Alistair and Lydia and he wasn't sure why he had been invited to come to the palace but he went anyway.

He was accompanied to Denerim by a full contingent of Inquisition guards, the invite had been for him and Khrystabel but she wasn't feeling up to a two or three week journey so Dorian went alone with his twelve soldiers. He couldn't figure out if that was Khrys' doing or Cullen's.

Fort Drakon was massive, still the same size it was when he was last there but he still found it to be quite impressive. His people never did anything small and when they built an outpost it stood the test of time.

Alistair and Lydia both were still hailed as the Heroes of Fereldan, The Warden King and Queen. Lydia killed the High Dragon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and lead the Warden's to victory while Alistair dealt the killing blow to the Archdemon. Lydia still served as the Warden-Commander of Fereldan and despite being a Mage she was absolutely loved by the people. Alistair hadn't changed much, still the handsome smartass that he ever was. When Dorian first met him, Alistair threatened to have him and Khrys executed for the mess in Redcliffe if they didn't leave. You could say they got off on the wrong foot. Alistair even threatened his own mother, Fiona; of course Alistair didn't know who she was at the time. Eleven years ago Lydia and Khrys sat them both down and had them talk. They really needed to and it shocked the hell out of Alistair to learn who his mother was. It took him time to figure out how to handle it but years later the relationship between Fiona and Alistair had stabilized.

Dorian was dressed in his travel clothes, at Skyhold he typically wore finer clothes but didn't like parading around the Fortress looking like a princess. His clothes were practical, the fact that they were made of out fine silk, fine cotton or other expensive fabrics was merely because he could afford it…and the finer stuff felt better against his skin. He couldn't quite shake the Tevinter noble in him. For travel across the entirety of the Fereldan Kingdom he wore his armor, a lot of armor. As stable and popular as the Inquisition was among Fereldan they did have their fair share of enemies and those who didn't trust them. Redcliffe was a big one still with Teagan as the Arl. He didn't trust all the Mage's in the Inquisition ranks and was the one who poked and prodded his 'nephew' Alistair to call for the Exalted Council. Teagan was a pain in the ass then and he was pain in the ass now. This was new armor too, dominate color in it was a dark red with obsidian buckles, buttons, and gauntlets and greaves; it was a gift from Khrys on his birthday. She was a practical woman and had been telling him for months that he needed a new set of armor so she had Dagna and Harritt make it; the fact that it was red wasn't a surprise to him. She'd always said he looked good in red.

The Palace guards eyed him closely, he may not have been the most intimidating character in the Inquisition but he was an extremely skilled mage. Right now he was dressed for battle, had a dagger on his left hip, his three headed dragon staff on his back, and was flanked by several Inquisition guards that were firmly under his command; he didn't blame the Palace guards for giving him the hairy eyeball.

"Dorian," Alistair greeted as Dorian was escorted into the Main Hall and Dorian respectfully bowed to him. "nice to see you again."

"Your Majesty, nice to see you as well," he said and Alistair extended his hand to him in friendship.

"Oh please, drop the formalities, call me Alistair," he said as Dorian shook his hand firmly. "Khrystabel not with you?" he asked scanning the six guards that were with him.

"Regrettably she had other business to attend to…the Inquisitors work is never done," he replied as he removed his gloves happy to be off the road. At least at Skyhold he had servants that could attend to him. He was still a Tevinter noble after all and enjoyed being pampered; the staff at Skyhold had gotten used to him and stepped up the service to him. It wasn't perfect seeing as how Khrys told the staff to do what they could and not bend to his every whim but he took it.

"Well, that's too bad," he said and gestured for Dorian to walk with him further into the Palace.

 **

The Royal Palace put Skyhold to shame; it was twice the size and far more grand. Grand by Fereldan standers, statues and carvings of Mabari were everywhere. He really didn't care for the décor in the palace but then again he was used to Imperial carvings. When they first reached Skyhold Khrys noticed that its décor was distinctly Elven, most notably Falon'Din. There were Owl statues and carvings everywhere, Cullen's office, the main hall, Khrys' chambers and various other places. This gave more credibility to Solas' claim that Skyhold was built by the ancient Elves. Skyhold's décor was now a hodgepodge of Elven, Fereldan, and a little Tevinter.

"Dorian," a female voice greeted as they entered the wing of the palace that held the apartments. Dorian's eyes moved to the woman who stood up from the couch letting the book she had fall to the couch. "welcome to Denerim," she finished. It was Lydia, Queen of Fereldan, her reddish brown hair hung loose down over she shoulders as she wore a light blue dress. Dorian blinked, he wasn't attracted to women but had to admit she was pretty. He'd never seen her without armor of some kind on. Even at the Exalted Council she wore her full Warden armor.

"My Dear, Lydia, you look positively radiant," he smiled and walked up to her taking her right hand in his and kissing the back of it like a gentleman. Dorian was absolutely irresistible when he turned on the charm; years spent being a gentleman in Tevinter playing the part of the good son. He snared Khrystabel by accident but thankfully she didn't hate him when the truth came out. He may not have been attracted to women but he could see beauty when it was there and Lydia was definitely beautiful.

Lydia blushed as he was almost as charming as Alistair. No one was as charming as Alistair; he gave her a rose after all to show how much he loved her and bashfully came to her to ask her to his bed. While she was at the Circle Tower there wasn't much time for charm or ceremony so when Alistair professed his love for her it won her heart forever. He told all of Thedas to shove it when they said that he couldn't marry her. Dorian was a charmer but nothing compared to her Alistair. "Charming as ever, Dorian," She smiled and couldn't help but blush. "I can see why Khrystabel hasn't sent you back to Tevinter."

Dorian chuckled. "Only because she hasn't gotten around to it yet," he replied grinning letting his sense of humor show through.

Lydia giggled at his joke as Dorian stood up straight to his full height; he was tall, taller than Alistair. "How is Gabriella?" she asked gesturing for Dorian to sit down. Servants hovered and buzzed around like bees providing finger food, water, and wine. He still wasn't sure why Alistair had invited him but good manners dictated that he be cordial and friendly to the hospitality first before diving into business.

"Good," he answered settling into the comfortable chair across from where Lydia was. A servant poured a healthy amount of wine into the glass he was holding and he could smell the sweet scent of a Tevinter red. He found that a little odd but it also could just be more hospitality, he was from Tevinter and enjoyed the finer things, Tevinter and Antiva had the best wines. "Very good actually, driving her mother and I crazy. She's got this independent streak and insists on breaking every rule Khrys and I lay down."

"How old is she now…sixteen?" Alistair asked as Dorian took a drink from him wine glass.

"Almost…in a few more months," he replied as the door on the other side of the room opened. A young man walked through and headed for them. He was about five foot ten with brown hair that was long but slicked back properly. He was young, probably barely seventeen, but fit and carried himself with confidence. He wore black tall boots, brown trousers, and a black tunic. Those clothes weren't indoor clothes, Dorian observed, they were outdoor ware. Probably going riding, he'd recognize riding clothing anywhere as Bree wore it daily.

"Father," he stated addressing Alistair who hadn't sat down and turned to face him.

"Ahh..," Alistair said and patted his back drawing him to sand next to him, "excellent timing."

Dorian blinked realizing who the young man was as soon as the word 'father' left his lips. "By the Maker," Dorian exclaimed, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. "Is this Duncan?"

Alistair grinned proudly patting his son's back. "Duncan, may I present Lord Dorian Pavus of the Inquisition."

Duncan gave a respectful head nod and Dorian bowed to the Prince before him. "A pleasure, Lord Pavus." The Inquisition was a highly respected order that Duncan had grown up hearing about just like the Wardens and the Templars.

"The last time I saw you, you were about two," Dorian said smiling and looking the young man up and down. "You look just like your mother…and that's a good thing…your father's not very handsome," he sniped and Duncan chuckled, almost awkwardly. He did look like Lydia, all in the nose and mouth, but Dorian wasn't sure where the dark brown hair came from with an auburn and a blonde being the parents, his eyes though...they were just like Alistair's and his smile was Alistair's too.

Lydia laughed and Alistair shook his head to the kindhearted ribbing. "That's the same thing mother says," Duncan joked causing Dorian to laugh louder.

"Oh splendid sense of humor, young man," he praised as Duncan turned to his father.

"If you don't mind I was going to go riding. Commander Roth was going to show me more cavalry tactics," Duncan asked respectfully to Alistair who nodded. "It'll give me a chance to work more with Raider."

Alistair nodded to his son; Duncan had a heavy interest in combat and cavalry, something he encouraged. "Of course. If Raider is still giving you problems come find me, I'll help you," he said and Duncan nodded to the group.

"Mother," he acknowledged then looked to Dorian. "Lord Pavus."

As he left Dorian was shocked and sat back down. "What a difference in fifteen years makes," he said. "He's grown up to be a handsome fellow."

Alistair sat down and looked like the proud father that he was. Duncan was a one in a million miracle child. Both his parents were Wardens, one parent being a Warden was hard enough to reproduce but two was supposed to impossible. It took nearly ten years of trying but it finally happened and Alistair and Lydia had Duncan. Since he was the miracle child he was barred from doing a lot of things. He wanted to be a Warden but Alistair and Lydia forbade it. The Templar Order had been rolled into the Seekers under Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and that was more acceptable to both than a Warden but the fact Duncan was heir to the Fereldan Kingdom meant he wasn't able to go and do much of anything, Templars, Seekers, Wardens…none of it. "He's bored with Denerim though," Alistair sighed. "Wants to join the Wardens or the Seekers."

Dorian cackled. "For a miracle child of two Wardens…I don't think so," he said making Lydia chuckle, that was the exact sentiment that they'd had.

They exchanged glances and Dorian's eyes flicked between them. Something was up and he got the feeling that he wasn't going to like it or at the very least it would be unpleasant. "That's actually why we asked you here," Alistair said. "You and Khrys."

 _"Oh this can't be good,"_ Dorian thought and took one last drink from his glass and then set it down crossing his legs and giving them his full attention. "Alright…"

"It's about that time where Duncan is getting a lot of attention from the court to marry," Alistair began and nearly felt uncomfortable about this topic but he'd worked it out with Lydia beforehand that he would do the talking, a dangerous prospect given Alistair's fear of talking to large crowds or to people in general. He got flustered and that usually resulted in a babbling idiot. "And Gabriella's become a fine young woman. Raised well, educated, and has two parents who love her."

Dorian's brow furrowed. _"Uh oh…here it comes,"_ he was quiet as he looked between them but he could see this coming like fireball. No wonder they sprang for Tevinter red wine, and an excellent vintage too. They were buttering him up. Part of him was enjoying this but not after the next sentence made it to his ears. "I think Duncan and Bree would make an excellent match." Dorian heard from Alistair and he blinked out of his own little world. Immediately the protective father in him went on high alert.

"Pardon?" he questioned, and shook his head not really sure why he just said that. He'd heard Alistair, loud and clear.

Alistair looked at Lydia not sure if he could do this again; he'd seen what happened when Dorian lost his temper. He was a powerful mage like Lydia and his position he'd probably have the same reaction that Dorian had. "Umm…I like Bree, she's a good girl and I think she and Duncan would be great together."

Dorian finished off his wine with one final gulp; normally he'd savor wine of that vintage but as it happened the rest of the bottle was on the table for his leisure. He suddenly felt uncomfortable and almost a little mad, but he didn't know why. Alistair and Lydia hadn't done anything wrong; they actually chose to do this in person, a respectful way to broach the topic of marriage between houses or whatever Skyhold was classified as. He always did like them but this was his daughter that they were talking about.

Lydia could see the reaction and stood to pour him another glass of wine. Dorian got flustered when she stood and he got to his feet waving her off. She was a Queen, she didn't need to pour his wine for him he could do that. "No, no, My Lady, its fine…I can do that," he said, he felt his face flush. His mother would kill him for flustering like this.

"Sorry if this took you by surprise," Lydia soothed batting his hand away and poured his wine for him anyway. Dorian regained his composure and sat back down. "Putting this into a letter just didn't seem right."

Dorian cleared his throat and took the glass from Lydia with a respectful nod. "Umm…I'm not sure what to say here," he stalled; he only had one answer to this. Bree was his only child, probably the only one he'd ever have so the idea of her marrying someone was literally terrifying. He'd rather face Corypheus all over again than deal with this. No one was good enough for Bree, she was all his. Period. "Uhh…," he cleared his throat and sighed. "Of course I'd have to talk to Khrys but as of now I'll have to say no. I won't marry my daughter off on a whim."

Alistair looked to Lydia and sighed a little. He really hoped that Dorian would be a little more receptive to this but at least he didn't fly off the handle. Alistair would have reacted the say way if he had a daughter, but he was certain that if Dorian actually got to know Duncan he'd see the same thing. Alistair had been to Skyhold a half a dozen time over the past fifteen years and had really gotten to see how Bree had progressed; he liked her immediately as did Lydia.

Alistair stiffened slightly but caught the look of his wife silently telling him to relax. "Hardly a whim," Alistair defened and tried not to sound offended by the comment.

"We don't expect you to decide anything right now," Lydia added and Dorian took another drink quickly.

"I don't mean to be rude," he began as he realized that he was dangerously close to being just that. "she's fifteen, too young to be thinking of this. I was raised in a society where marriage was arranged and forced on us. My father tried…among other things, its one reason I left Tevinter."

Lydia smiled to him and poured herself a glass of the Tevinter wine before sitting back down next to Alistair. "It doesn't have to be right now," she repeated, but didn't want to push Dorian too far. "All we ask is that you think about it."

Dorian allowed a smile and nodded to her. "I will do that, My Dear Queen," he would think about it but his was certain his answer wouldn't venture beyond 'no'. He would have to talk to Khrys about this and maybe even Bree but he was firm in his position that she was only fifteen and could do what she wanted. She didn't need to get married or have children, play the part; she was free to be independent and never have to endure what he did.

 

 **

Dorian enjoyed the royal hospitality, there was a 'feast' of sorts and the food was amazing. One good thing about being here was a little vacation from everything at Skyhold. He did miss Bree and Khrys but it was nice to be away for a while. Alistair was right, he did like Duncan; he was smart, polite, with a sharp sense of humor. Dorian let the topic of his daughter marrying drift to the back of his mind during dinner with Alistair, Lydia, Duncan, and a few other people. Stories were traded about the War and spells gone wrong. Dorian actually had a good time and the food was great, maybe it was another bottle of Tevinter wine but he actually forgot about what Alistair and Lydia had asked for a while. He wondered what Khrys' reaction would be; knowing her it would the exact opposite of his. For now he did what he said he'd do and tried to get to know the young Prince.

Duncan wanted to hear all about the Inquisition from an actual member of the organization. He'd heard all about the Templars from his father and the Wardens from both his mother and father. There were enough Wardens running around in at the Palace and he'd spent enough time with them at Vigil's Keep and wanted nothing more than to join them but his parents staunchly forbid that and the Templar Order. The last thing they wanted was their only son placed in impossible danger as a Warden or to renounce his lands and holdings as a Templar. The kid was stuck.

Dorian took a moment with his last few days to wander around. He checked on the soldiers that came with him and did a few things that Khrys, Josie, and Cullen had asked him to do while he was there. He stopped in to see how the Inquisition's Denerim post was doing, headed by Captain Greta Briony, a fine and fierce soldier. She was a veteran of the War and one of Cullen's absolute finest soldiers. She had some extremely amusing stories about how the Fereldan soldiers and Warden's in Denerim underestimated the pretty face. Greta Briony was a small woman but fierce, an Officer of the Inquisition and former Templar still taking Lyrium she was often underestimated by her opponents, she and Dorian actually got along very well despite being a Tevinter Mage and Fereldan Templar; most people called that oil and water.

After that he found himself in the paddock area and joined a small crowd looking into one of the paddocks. They were watching the young Prince on an obviously green horse. The young dark dapple grey was arguing with his rider. Duncan was not only polite and smart but calm too. He was talking to the young horse but not loud enough for anyone to hear him. The horse skipped and hopped a little until Duncan regained the control. He gathered the colt up and started again. Trying to get the colt into a collected trot seemed to work this time and he went into a higher action trot. Dorian wasn't the finest horseman in the world but he'd spent time watching Cullen teach Bree over the years so he knew what he was looking at.

"Easy. Easy." He heard Duncan coach as the horse continued to fight him.

Dorian guessed that he was teaching maneuvers to the horse, or at least trying to. Thom, Cullen, and Dennett did it enough at Skyhold he was certain that he was witnessing the beginning stages of a young cavalry horse in training.

After a while the group dispersed as Duncan took pointers from another man on the other side of the paddock. Dorian recognized him as Roth, Alistair's top military commander. After a few minutes of conversing with his apparent teacher Duncan began again and it seemed to be a better round this time. Duncan was an exceptional horseman and Dorian was rather impressed. _"You can learn a lot about someone from the way they ride."_ He remembered Thom tell him on several occasions, the burly Free Marcher was right.

When the schooling was done Duncan let the horse relax and rode him with a loose rein noticing Dorian watching him from the paddock gate. He wasn't really sure why Dorian was here, a member of the Inquisition was usually at Denerim daily. They had a post at the Palace but they didn't really cross paths too much. Dorian was what the Inquisition called a Senior Agent and it's Tevinter Ambassador, and usually only left Skyhold for really important or personal business. His parents invited him here and appeared to be showing him off to Dorian and that never boded well for an only child.

Duncan had shucked his stirrups and pulled his horse to a stop by the gate sparing Dorian a curious look. "Well, he's a spirited one isn't he?" Dorian commented about the colt Duncan was on. "So, is there anything you can't do, Prince Duncan?" he asked as Duncan dismounted, he smiled and shrugged bashfully. He was shy, that wasn't a surprise given his bashful father. Guess it was a genetic thing because Lydia wasn't bashful at all. "Who taught you to ride like that?"

"My father," he answered and patted the colts' neck as he turned his full attention to Dorian. While he wasn't entirely sure what was going on with his parents and Dorian he was polite to him. Dorian was a member of the Inquisition, an organization that his parents might actually let him join.

Dorian expected any other answer but that one; general, horse master, Warden, Templar; technically the last two were the same thing as his father was both a Warden and a Templar. "Really?"

"My father's the best horseman I've ever seen." he added and Dorian cocked his head to him. He had to admit, he did like Duncan. He never thought that Fereldan would or could produce someone as refined and seemingly sophisticated as Duncan; that was the smug Tevinter noble in him that he couldn't quite shake. He preferred Orlais to Fereldan but preferred Alistair and Lydia to Gaspard and his troupe of masked schemers.

"I had no idea," he said honestly. "Tell me more about you, My Lord," he asked, seeming to fish for more information.

Duncan passed his horse to the stable boy and pulled his gloves off walking with him. "What…what would you like to know, Lord Pavus?"

"Call me Dorian, please," he said then remembered that he was addressing a crown Prince. "If it pleases you, Prince."

"Please, you don't have to call me that," Duncan said with a smile. Dorian was of the Inquisition, he really wanted to learn more about them and he grew up with stories about them. "You can call me Duncan, Dorian."

Dorian allowed a smile and nodded to the young man. "I see you are a fine horseman, what else do you like? Your mother says you like to read a lot, any particular subject?"

"History. History of the Wardens, Templars, Seekers…the Inquisition," he answered. "What can I say…I'm nostalgic about the ancient romantic orders of Thedas."

Dorian chuckled to the young man. "Nothing wrong with that, reading tales of great battles from long ago was a favorite pastime of mine when I was younger. Still is," he admitted with a smile. "Khrys calls me a bookworm but everyone comes to me when they have a question on magic, history, or something mundane."

"I'm not really one for researching but I do like the history. I just started reading a book on Mages," he said and Dorian wasn't surprised. His mother was a Blood Mage, the fact that even she hid from the general public.

"Which one?" he asked finding it rather easy to strike up a conversation with him. They appeared to have similar interests.

"When the Mages helped King Calenhad unite Fereldan," he replied. "Created the Kingdom." Dorian nodded, he'd read that one but to perfectly honest those reads were pretty dry. The Tevinter books on Mage history were better but probably a bit embellished and bias considering the source. "May I ask you something?" Duncan asked as he and Dorian left the paddock.

"Of course."

"What's it like?" he asked. "The Inquisition…what was it like during the war?"

Dorian shrugged not really sure how to answer that. During the war everyday presented something new, some new threat, some new challenge that they had to deal with, a fluid situation that changed daily. "Busy. A lot busier, that's for sure."

"I thought the Inquisition was supposed to disband after Corypheus was defeated," he inquired and Dorian nodded, he was right about that.

"That's true," he answered. "Khr…- the Inquisitor was ready to disband the Inquisition but there was a credible threat from…" Dorian trailed off as the 'betrayal' from Solas still angered him. Finding Khrystabel with a disintegrating left arm was a memory he'd never get rid of and it he ever found that damned Elf again he'd kill him. "Well, it prevented her from doing it at the time."

"My father says the Inquisition is a neutral force but doesn't answer to any one nation."

Dorian shook his head. "Not necessarily true, we are allied with all but Tevinter and answer to the Chantry and the Seekers both," Dorian looked down at him as Duncan clasped hands behind his back. The kid was curious, trying to figure out where he fit in, most likely. "I would be more than happy to show you around Skyhold if you're ever there."

Duncan smiled like a kid in a candy store. "I would enjoy that, but I doubt my parents would let me out of Denerim."

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, he knew exactly what the poor kid was going through. "Tough being an only child isn't it?" he asked with a smile and turned to face him. "I tell you what, My Prince, come to the next council meeting in Skyhold and I'll give you the run of the Fortress, free to watch and learn all you want. I'm sure Khrys and Commander Cullen won't mind."

The Council meeting he was referring to was held every few months or so for the powers of Thedas and Inquisition allies. Duncan would be ecstatic to go but he'd never been brought along by either his mother or his father and they both went to Skyhold on a regular basis. He'd probably be able to go this time, he was 17 and if he was going to take over for his father one day attending the important meetings was a good idea. He'd already sat in on several military sessions, and meetings with the Wardens, the Seekers, and other smaller meetings. Dorian's offer to show him a lot more about the Inquisition then what the average person saw was right up his ally. If his parents wouldn't let him join the Wardens, the Templars, or the Seekers they might just let him join the inquisition.


	2. Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The change to the relationship begins here. It is now a Lavellan/Michel pairing. Just couldn't make Fenris and Lavellan work.

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Two: Skyhold

 

Khrys felt the bed depress behind her and half rolled over toward it. She felt the presence of someone else in the room and that pulled her to a groggy, conscious state. She knew who it was. The Wolf still stalked her dreams, Solas still thought of her, but she’d found someone new…a lion this time. Michel de Chevin, the ‘disgraced’ Chevalier and former Champion to Celene, he was no longer disgraced as Gaspard offered him a full pardon for what had happened during the War of the Lions though his parentage remained concealed. He was grateful to Gaspard for not executing him when he had every right to but preferred to serve the Inquisition and, to his surprise, Gaspard granted him both the pardon and his choice of posts. It took time, a lot of time, and even more patience, but as much as Michel didn’t want to admit he’d fallen in love with her, he had. Khrys’ draw was undeniable and irresistible. He loved her completely and loved Gabriella like his own daughter.

“Amour,” she heard him purr softly as he joined her in the bed. His gentle voice drawing her from sleep she rolled onto her back and felt Michel settle next to her trapping her with his arms.

Khrys smiled at his Orlesian term of endearment and he kissed her deeply. He hated leaving for weeks at a time and traveling with that damned thing named Cole, but loved the feeling of coming back to her. She snaked her right hand over his back through the darkness she could still see him. He broke from her lips and dropped his mouth to her neck gently kissing her. He loved the taste of her skin, soft and sweet. “Vhenan,” she replied in kind smiling sweetly as she rubbed her right hand up and down his strong back.

It was still dark, if the light or lack thereof, outside was anything to go by. Michel shifted his position bracing himself over her with both arms as she parted her legs letting him settle between them. He did miss her, a lot. Over three weeks away running down leads make her ache for him as well. She knew what she was in for now, a night of lovemaking…really good lovemaking. It was hard to get Michel into her bed but it was well worth the struggle.

After Corypheus was defeated Michel had returned to Orlais, cautiously, given that he was disgraced for treachery by Celene. There was a little more to it than that, Briala screwed him, he had Gaspard defeated and she called in her favor and he was honor-bound to obey. Gaspard was true to his word though, he pardoned him but still didn’t insult the Champion by asking him to serve the man he’d bested in single combat. Michel loved being a Chevalier but his presence at the Academie was uncomfortable when half saw him as a traitor. He returned to the Skyhold nearly two years later when the Inquisition didn’t disband as anticipated.

He fell back into service as an agent and as one of Cullen’s Captains. Occasionally he left to follow a lead unusually with Fenris and Cole.

The longer he was near her, the more Michel found he was drawn to Khrys; she was beautiful, kind, and very sensible for a mage. There was pain in her past, a lot of it and she could see that and the same went for him but she didn’t treat him like something that would break so he returned the favor. As much as he didn’t want to get involved with her he couldn’t help it. It started when he brought a Halla carving back from one of his missions to the Brecilian Forest, he’d remembered that her vallaslin was Ghilan’nain’s before Solas removed it. It was a simple gesture that started it all but for a relationship that was pending for years.

**

Michel ran his left hand over her tiny body feeling her smooth skin under his fingers. She was comfortably sleeping on her stomach with as content a smile as he’d ever seen. It made him smile knowing that she was so happy with him. He was fine with her on her stomach; it gave him a free view and access to her small round ass. He caressed her buttocks and the small of her back as he slowly moved up her back. Her long white hair spilled out over her back and shoulders, she’d said that her hair used to be as black as ink until the stress of receiving the anchor turned her hair an impressive snow white. As clean and pure as the white hair looked he’d love to have seen it black. It was a small matter; she was beautiful no matter her hair color.

She purred and stirred as he tickled the middle of her back, the ticklish area on her and goosebumps rose on her skin. He smiled at her cat-like stretch as she moved her head to the side he was on to look at him. “Good morning,” she mumbled with a smile.

Michel kissed her cheek. “Good morning,” he replied.

“I hate it when you’re gone so long,” she said and Michel brushed a lock of her hair from her face. “How was Orlais?”

“Same as it always is,” he replied with a snort. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, love.”

“Well, you made a good start making it up to me last night,” she giggled and Michel growled rolling her toward him onto her back.

She laughed looking up at him; Michel was stoic but when he was comfortable he was playful. “Who says it’s over?” he smirked and took up a handful of her right breast.

“You promise?” she giggled grabbing the Lover’s Knot necklace he wore pulling him to her as the Orlesian answered her question with a kiss and a soft chuckle.

He’d changed so much since joining the Inquisition and it was all because of her. He found what he needed in her, someone to trust, someone he didn’t need to lie to. He told her his parentage early on; he wanted to be nothing but honest with her. He wasn’t a noble in fact he was a bastard but he was the embodiment of the Chevaliers and that’s what Gaspard saw. Despite his apprehension at falling for someone he swore to serve he let himself trust her and fell in love.

Skyhold was always busy, organized chaos, is what Khrys called it; Ant Farm was a closer description that Dorian used. In fifteen years a small town had sprung up where the military camp had been in the valley below Skyhold, unimaginatively called Herald…Khrys hated it but there was nothing she could do about it. It was still hard to get to despite the well-traveled route established by the Army. Ten years ago a faction of Orlesian soldiers that broke away from Gaspard’s forces threatened to attack Skyhold if the Inquisition didn’t leave. Cullen took the threat seriously but Khrys just chortled and told them to come if they dared. Gaspard quickly crushed the faction but not before they tried to make their way up the mountain only to get mired in chest deep snow.

Dorian’s journey home from Denerim would have been considerably shorter if he took a ship from Denerim to Jader and then rode to Skyhold from there but he got sea sick just looking at the water. So, rather than making himself so sick he couldn’t stand it, he took the extra week of travel. As he made his way up the road his guard split off and headed to the barracks in the precariously perched town below the fortress.

Over the years Skyhold had been completely upgraded and repaired, it was a gleaming fortress in the sky, probably the more impenetrable one in all of Thedas. Walls and battlements were upgraded by Dwarven builders and every roof and room was fixed, they did as much as they could to repair the prison but whatever let go under the foundation took a lot of the stability with it. It would probably never be repaired to its former glory but it was still an effective prison. Skyhold’s interior had changed a bit too. The merchants were moved and no longer inside the hold, that area was dedicated to the stables. The barn had been rebuilt and was bigger holding twice as many horses, Dennett had long retired back to the Hinterlands and a young man named Ulrich Flynn was his replacement. Dennett spent a year grooming him to be his replacement and he was every bit as good as Dennett.

Most of the changes to Skyhold came in the form of battlements, structures, and walls and some cosmetic changes. The Herald’s Rest was still there, managed by Cullen’s wife Ariel, and the ‘Mage Tower’ served as housing for some of the mages and a library in itself. Fiona had started a Mage College but it grew too big to be housed in that Tower. There was a number of Templars present in Skyhold at all times. No matter how much the mages assured everyone that nothing could go wrong and there was no risk of possession Cullen remained wary. Thirty Templars maintained a constant presence in the keep much to the chagrin of the mages.

Skyhold was home for Dorian; his country was so unfamiliar to him now, all the ugliness normally hidden away by Tevinter bluster was dragged into the light after he joined the Inquisition. He knew Tevinter had its issues but being with the Inquisition culture shocked him seeing it all. He loved his country but it disgusted him with the way they treated people and acted toward anyone different, including him, one of the so called elite. He’d never take Bree there; her Elf blood would subject her to abuse that he never wanted her to experience. He’d never even introduced his mother to her grandchild, to be quite honest he wasn’t sure how she would treat her. It scared him and that was the biggest reason why he hadn’t done it. He didn’t want to handle the shame he’d feel if his family turned their nose up at their elf-blooded grandchild. Not shame about Bree, he was quite proud of her, shame about his condescending, hypocritical, Tevinter family.

He dropped is horse off at the stables and then made his way into Skyhold passing various people who welcomed him back by name. He passed a few people who actually bowed, part of him enjoyed that but it bothered him more than anything else now. He may have been at the top tier of the Inquisition but it wasn’t reason for someone to bow to him.  
Dorian hoofed it up the steps and cursed every one of them, his legs tired from all the riding and occasional walking. He couldn’t wait to take a nice hot bath and sleep in his bed fitted with all the Orlesian silk he could find. He may have lived in the most inhospitable environment but he wasn’t a barbarian.

**

The heavy door closed behind Bree as she entered the Main Hall from the apartment wing where her room was located along with her father’s. Gabriella Pavus was a beautiful girl, fifteen years old she and about five foot four, relatively the size as her mother who was barely five foot, really the only Elven thing she’d inherited from Khrys. Her hair was black as ink and always shiny; she had light blue eyes like her mother, and had the dark complexion of Dorian. She looked more Tevinter than Dalish but the human traits were dominant in a pairing like that. Her long black hair was braided up into a solid thick braid that hung down her back. She wore different shades of brown leather from head to toe as she pulled on dark brown supple leather gloves. As she headed out of the Main Hall she passed Cullen who was heading to his office from the restricted corridor to the War Table.

“Good morning, Cullen,” she greeted with the bright smile that everyone in Skyhold was used to.

Cullen bowed to her respectfully. “Lady Bree,” he greeted in kind. “Going riding?” he asked and she nodded, that was typical of her. She loved to ride. If she wasn’t found in Skyhold odds were good that was out riding. “There’s a new trail to the north east, my scouts cleared it two days ago.”

She nodded to him gratefully and Cullen continued on through the rotunda and to his office. Cullen’s role in with the Inquisition hadn’t changed much. He was still the commander of their forces and Khrys’ military advisor. He still worked more than he slept but he actually had gotten married and had been married for about ten years now. Ariel was among the refugees fleeing from the Mage-Templar War in the Hinderlands, when the Inquisition ended the fighting in the Hinterlands she came to the Skyhold refugee camp that became the town. When Cullen met Ariel for the first time eleven years ago the entire tavern could see him blushing like a teenager. They were married now with two children a daughter, Arabela who was eight and a son Bowen who was six.

**

On his way up Skyhold’s seemingly endless supply of steps, Dorian passed Fenris who was sent to the Inquisition with information by Tess Hawke; she’d sent the former slave to Skyhold with a lead on one of Solas’ operations twelve years ago. He was a valuable addition though his recruitment took some time. Fenris turned an interrogation that would have taken Cullen and Thom hours to complete into one that took under a minute. Showing off his nifty and extremely unnerving talent by putting his right hand into the spy’s chest made the poor guy sing like a canary. Khrys had never been so impressed.

With Varric and Cullen in Skyhold, Fenris felt a little more at ease but he hated being surrounded by more Mages then he’d ever seen since being in Minrathous. Cole also unnerved him, the spirit was a puzzle to him but after going on a few outings with him he came to realize that they were an effective team. That didn’t mean Fenris was by any means comfortable with the idea of a spirit having his back but the biggest crimp in Solas’ plans over the years had two names; Cole and Fenris.

“Elf.” He acknowledged.

“Mage.” Fenris returned in kind. The Elf scowled to him, at first Dorian thought he’d always offended him but he soon realized that was Fenris’ normal expression. Fenris wasn’t a bad guy; at least he got to practice his Tevene with someone, albeit mostly curse words, but that someone was a man with the biggest and honestly best reason for a grudge against mages. He was a Lyrium Warrior, the rarest of Tevinter warriors, he’d never seen one and the first time he’d met Fenris he nearly pissed himself. Unfortunately, Fenris’ personality was abrasive to say the least. He cared for Khrys and Bree liked him so Dorian gave him a little slack. Bree’d also had a crush on the mysterious Elf since she was 10 years old, he could see the appeal, it bothered him to some degree but on the same hand he couldn’t blame her…the warrior was good looking, at least he raised her to have good taste…or poor taste if his mistakes were anything to go by.

Dorian groaned…he really needed to stop thinking about this. This was all Alistair’s fault now every man he saw in Skyhold had the potential to be his daughter’s lover or husband. Until the trip to Denerim she was just his little girl now she was of the age that suitors would come to call. “I’m going to kill Alistair,” he thought happily, that would make him feel better but wouldn’t make the problem go away since the planted seed already had roots.

Bree saw her father appear in the frame of the large main door. He grinned seeing her as he walked directly for her. “Daddy,” Bree greeted smiling broadly and embraced him tightly as they met at the hearth by the Rotunda door.

“Hello, my dear,” Dorian said and wrapped his arms around his daughter. It was impossible to put into words how much he missed her. She was dressed for riding, typical Bree, it was a beautiful day and he was actually surprised that she wasn’t out riding already.

“How was Denerim?” she asked and he sighed heavily as she stepped back from him.

“Made me miss home actually or at the very least Orlais,” he replied and Bree chuckled, a strange comment considering her father hated Orlais. He was proper and refined, used to being pampered. At Skyhold he didn’t really get what he had grown up with but at Denerim and Val Royeaux he got treated like a king. “Going riding?”

She nodded, it was obvious, and he knew her well enough to know her routine. “Yeah. You?”

“Going up to speak with your mother,” he said and Bree made a cringing face.

“You might want to wait, Dad,” she said and Dorian could hear the next words before she said them. “Michel came back late last night.”

Dorian paused. _“Oh goody,”_ he thought to himself more annoyed about that than anything else, Michel was a good man. The Chevalier had always gotten on his nerves though and refused to bend his code of honor even a little bit. “Ahh…well…I guess I’ll go take a very long bath…after seventeen years no matter how much perfume I spritz everywhere Fereldan still smells like wet dog.” Bree giggled and walked away from him. “Be careful, Love.”

**

Dorian was happy to see his room, the four poster bed was covered with fine quality blankets and Orlesian silk, a little ostentatious for Skyhold but didn’t care, he appreciated the finer things in life but everyone else just shook their heads. Servants saw him coming and scurried around readying his room, lighting the hearth and attending to anything else he might need. His only order, ready a bath. Denerim was warmer than Skyhold and the journey up the mountain reminded him how much he hated snow. He changed his clothes collected a few personal things and found the bath house empty. He locked the door and if he could have dove headfirst into the tub of steaming hot water he would have. A nice long soak would warm his cold body, he missed the warmth of Tevinter but Skyhold was easily a hundred times better than the Magisterium.

The water was hot and the steam succeeded in relaxing him, he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh but he couldn’t let the idea of Bree getting betrothal offers go. He was still reeling from Alistair, King of Fereldan, offering his only son and heir as a match. That would make Bree a Queen if it took place. At least Alistair didn’t appear to be interested in political gain and he was right, Duncan was a good kid. Well spoken, smart, a little quiet but he didn’t hold that against him, and had a wonderful sense of humor. This was aggravating him; he’d been thinking about this the whole damn journey from Denerim. Bree was his little girl, his only little girl, the one thing in his life that he was actually proud of. Inevitably, she would grow up but he was nowhere near ready for this.

He sighed again hearing the attendant come in and poured another pale of hot water into his tub as Dorian paid him no mind.

“You think you will lose her.” Cole stated, suddenly appearing in the room out of thin air.

Dorian jumped at the sudden voice in the room and Cole’s presence, causing the water to slosh, splashing some over the lip and onto the floor. “Andraste’s ass, Cole!” he barked. “What are you doing in here?!”

“You think you will lose her. Or that she’ll resent you for forcing her to do it,” Cole continued, ignoring the concept of privacy that still eluded him. “She won’t.”

Dorian grumbled to the Spirit. “What? Won’t resent me or I won’t lose her?” he asked in a bitter tone.

“You are ‘Daddy’, no one else makes her feel as safe as you do, not Cullen, or Michel, or Mama…you,” he spouted quickly and then finally looked at him coming out of his ‘trance’ like readings. “You are not your parents, Dorian,” he added and Dorian blinked.

Dorian became acutely aware of the fact he was naked sitting in a tub having this rather one sided conversation. “I’d much rather discuss this when I’m a little _less_ indisposed.”

“The attendant wants you to take him to bed,” Cole said and Dorian’s brow furrowed. Cole was still an enigma, a Spirit outside the fade, most people had gotten used to him prattling on but it was still unnerving.

“Perfect,” he droned more annoyed than anything else. “Out.” Cole obeyed and vanished the same way he came in _“you are not your parents”_ Dorian thought repeating the line from Cole. He knew that, but he was protective of his little girl. He grumbled to himself and splashed water in his face trying to think of something, anything else for a while. Now his thoughts drifted to Cole’s last comment, the attendant wanted to sleep with him. Well, at least he could still turn a head or two. He’d seen this man before; an Orlesian man somewhere around twenty-five, considerably younger than he was now and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered. When Bree was born his romantic life came to a halt by his own design. He devoted himself to raising Bree and his relationship at the time, Bull, commended him for it. Bull respected his wishes and let Dorian move at his own pace.  
Excruciatingly slow to the point that Bull and he drifted apart.

He wasn’t interested, he had someone he loved, someone he wanted more than anything all the time but he couldn’t have him all the time, he served Starkhaven. His right hand went to the bear-tooth necklace given to him by Balian and fiddled with it. A bit rustic for him but it was the meaning behind it, he groaned loudly and sank deeper into the water up to the jaw line he missed Balian. When the hell did he become so damn complicated?

**

Khrys wasn’t exactly sure what time it was, no one had come to find her but most people who were important enough to come to her chambers because they needed her knew that if Michel had been gone for a while and had just returned it was in their best interests to leave the pair alone. Unless Skyhold was under attack by a damn dragon or Fen’Harel himself it could wait or be handled by army of advisors and aids she had. Food had been sent up with both of their favorite breakfast on the tray and a small vase with a single Chrystal Grace in it. The Elf kitchen worker blushed wildly as handsome Chevalier accepted the tray at the bottom of the steps. The loose white shirt he was wearing revealed his lean muscles and past battle scars. He was the talk of Skyhold and in the upper echelon of ‘best looking guys on campus’ he was taken however and happy with that, everyone in Skyhold could see that he wore her favors every day. Between the dragon webbing fabric always displayed on his armor and left half of the Lover’s Knot it was inescapably clear that he was spoken for. That didn’t mean he wasn’t flattered with people dropping stuff simply because they were distracted by him.

The food on the tray had been picked apart by Michel and Khrys set between them on the bed with him at the foot and Khrys sitting cross legged leaning against the headboard. He noted that still after all this time she was still self-conscious about the loss of her left forearm. She covered it up and hid it in clothing whenever she could. Even now half naked on the bed she used the blankets to try to hide it. Part of him could understand it when she was in public, but in private with him she had nothing to fear, no judgement, nothing that needed hiding. She was a beautiful woman, smart, kind, and funny the loss of her arm to something she had absolutely no control over didn’t diminish any of her attributes. Every time he mentioned something about it Khrys recoiled like she was ashamed of it so he didn’t press her too much about it, when she was ready to talk, if she ever was, he’d listen but for now it wasn’t important.

“A single Chrystal Grace…” he began gently touching the flowers soft pedals with his right hand as he lounged sideways on the bed. “let me guess…Bree.”

Khrys smiled. “She probably heard you came back last night and figured you’d be up here all day,” she said blushing at the sight of him at the foot of her bed. She thanked the creators for him every day, he was so good to her, treated her like a Queen but wasn’t afraid to lock horns with her when they had a disagreement. She liked that, it was same reason that she’d liked Solas, though Michel wasn’t an ancient Elf bent on destroying the world because of a temper tantrum. She was grateful that he was able to look beyond his own past and trust her, he conditioned himself to forget the bastard peasant boy and was almost ashamed of what he was then he’d been manipulated by an Elf and it cost him everything. If he hadn’t opened himself up she’d still be alone.

Michel lifted the tray off the bed and set it down on the floor with his right hand but took the flower from the vase on the way back up. “Have I become that predictable?” he asked his tone light with a snort.

Khrys shrugged. “You were never really that hard to figure out, Vhenan,” she replied with a smile as he scooted up the bed to sit where she was.

“Is that so?” he asked still playing with her as he shook the droplets of water off the flowers stem.

“You’ve been the same since I met you in the Du Lion, a kind and honorable man,” she replied trying to figure out what he was going to do with the pale blue flower.

She was right, his core beliefs had never changed, he was driven by the Chevalier code…he lived by it. He spent the majority of his life living a lie but thankfully, honor was not exclusive to the nobles. He heeded his code even when it cost him the most and that was why Gaspard didn’t kill him on the spot.

Michel smiled to her. “I’ve loved you since you killed that demon. You were my Champion that day.” he said quietly as he rose to his knees tucking the flower behind her left ear and brushing the knuckles of his right hand down her cheek. “And I will love you forever.”

Khrys ducked her head blushing like mad, her blushing smile made him smile as well and he lifted her chin gently with his left hand kissing her softly. Their position changed as she straddled over his lap feeling his hand right hand brace her at the small of her back and his left hand run his fingers through her long, thick, and impossibly silky soft white hair. “I love you,” she said softly as her right hand traced down his face.

**

Dorian made his rounds around Skyhold; he’d been given several tasks to do while in Denerim so he was now handling the back hauls. He didn’t mind really, it made no difference to him. He’d learned his place in the Inquisition and most of the people who asked him to do something he was more than happy to help. He delivered messages to Josephine and chatted with the Ambassador for a while discussing juicy gossip in Denerim then he moved on to Charter and passed information to the Spymaster before headed through the rotunda to Cullen’s office. He had to admit that Charter wasn’t nearly as scary as Leliana but he still didn’t want to be on the wrong side of the Spymaster when she was pissed off. He’d see her put an arrow in someone’s eye from so far away he could barely see them. Black Heart they called her and that alone should scare the hell out of anyone.

The crisp mountain air hit him with a refreshing blast as he crossed the bridge to his destination. Before Fenris had arrived the Commander was his favorite person to irritate, it was too easy and thus became his favorite pastime.

“Commander,” Dorian greeted as he closed the door behind him.

Cullen looked up briefly from the note he was reading and grunted a response before returning his attention to the note. Appearance wise Cullen had changed little in fifteen years. He looked almost exactly the same, Dorian envied him. He retained the rugged handsomeness without looking any older, only his hair showed his age and the stress he’d endured as the temples had begun to fleck with grey. And still he wore his trademark lion armor every day. Practical in its purpose, they were still under a threat, but not at an all-out war…yet. Cullen preferred to remain ready at all times hence the armor he wore on a daily basis.

 _“How does he do it?”_ Dorian thought to himself and stepped to the desk holding out a bundle of letters and scrolls. “Correspondence from Broiny in Denerim,” he said sounding vaguely interested in the task. “Somehow I got turned into a silk dressed messenger boy.”

Cullen took the letters and began to sort through them. “At least you finally found a suitable job,” he sniped and Dorian actually grinned.

“Such sass, Commander,” he cackled grinning. “I like it when you do that.”

Cullen was used to this, Dorian enjoyed prodding him and he knew that. Aside from Khrys and Malcolm, Dorian provided him a challenge at Chess. He was his favorite Chess partner, in fact, so much that they had a weekly chess game set up. He allowed a half smile and went back to what he was doing but felt the all too familiar sharp pain scream from his left temple to the right one. Cullen closed his eyes and groaned a little bracing his right hand on the desk and leaning on it.

Dorian observed him and narrowed his eyes a little; he didn’t move to help him even though he knew what the problem was. Cullen wouldn’t accept it even if he could do something. “Headache?”

Cullen simply nodded once allowing the pain to subside. The headache would spread through his nerves and make them feel like they were on fire, every injury he’d ever sustained would hurt as well; he was in for a bad day and was prepared for that. He dreaded the pain, ever since he broke four ribs and his left shoulder five years ago the flare ups hurt more than usual.

“The tonic’s not working anymore?” he inquired but it was more like a statement.

As the pain passed Cullen stood up straight and regained his composure. “Not as well. Sometimes even when I take it, it doesn’t stop the pain…just dulls it.”

When Cullen stopped taking the Lyrium he was plagued by near debilitating pain. Nerve pain, headaches, nausea, body aches, the works. It could and would kill him eventually. Thirteen years ago Elan Ve’mal, Skyhold’s apothecary, created an herbal tonic to help soothe the pain that Cullen experienced daily. It took time and a lot of trial and error but she was able to refine the mix and improved Cullen’s quality of life dramatically. When he started with it one dose was good enough to keep him pain free for two weeks or so. No pain, no headaches, and it even helped with the nightmares. Then a few years passed and the length of time between was down to a week, then a few times a week, now it was twice a day and it wasn’t working nearly as well. To say it was losing its effectiveness was a monumental understatement.

Dorian took a few steps closer to him. “I know Elan and Birch are still working to improve it. I haven’t come up with anything ground breaking in my research as of yet,” he said and Cullen’s pride showed through in his posture. He was grateful for the researchers, the apothecaries, and mages who were working to help him. “Maybe Morrigan can help.”

Cullen looked at him sharply in an almost scolding manner. “I’d rather have you touch me than have that bloody witch come anywhere near me,” he growled before realizing that his phrasing wasn’t exactly proper.

Dorian couldn’t resist. “Well…the truth finally comes out,” he smirked as Cullen rolled his eyes at the mage’s heavy innuendo. “I knew you’d come around.”

“That’s not what I mean…I-…” Cullen defended growing as uncomfortable and embarrassed as ever.

Dorian held up his hand and allowed a soft chuckle. “I know what you meant, you’re just so much fun to tease, Commander, an easy target,” he pacified but could still see the former Templar’s slightly red cheeks.

The far door opened and Knight-Captain Lysette entered. Lysette was a recruit long ago and now commanded the Templars in Skyhold. In Cullen’s hierarchy of people under his command Lysette was in the top five of his ranking system. “Commander, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Cullen shook his head; he was very much done with Dorian before he embarrassed himself further by phrasing things the wrong way. “No, its fine, Lysette.”

“Captain,” Dorian nodded at Lysette who gave him a slight bow. “Commander, chess later?”

Cullen nodded but maintained his focus on why Lysette was there. “Fine,” he replied, his typical response, as Dorian left. Dorian had spent time in Denerim’s library looking at books that might provide some help in figuring out Cullen’s dilemma, ultimately a dilemma for all Templars that went off the Lyrium.

It had been hours since he’d returned; at least four and Khrys still hadn’t come down from her chambers. He doubted that she even knew he was back. The elf-blooded Chevalier must be a skilled lover indeed, Michel had never done anything to earn his ire but it was the fact that he was a Chevalier that Dorian disapproved of, he used to not care but events recently had colored his opinion. Dorian remembered clearly when Khrys recruited Michel de Chevin in the frozen hellhole of the Du Lion. Next to that bloody undead infested bog in southern Fereldan the Emprise Du Lion was his least favorite place in all of Thedas and that was saying a lot given all the places he’d been.

He was a good man although he did send them to a fight that squarely occupied a place on Dorian’s top five worst fights ever list. Taking Suledin Keep was awful, if it wasn’t the Giants and the swarms of Red Templars, Imshael certainly stepped up the difficulty factor. Three Mages, a Warrior, and Cole had a bitch of a time trying contain the damn demon enough to weaken it so Solas could send his ass back to the Fade permanently.

On his way up the steps he didn’t hear anything too inappropriate but even if he had it was time for them to come up for air. He passed by her two Templar guards, it was hard to get used to seeing people other than Tristan and Corbin, the two Templars that’d been her guards since Haven. Gerard, the Orlesian, was tall dark and handsome and Declan was from Denerim, blonde, and looked a lot like Cullen. Fereldan’s gene pool was apparently only so big.

“I hope I’m not _coming_ at a bad time,” Dorian announced making sure to emphasize his innuendo as clearly as possible.

He heard the familiar growl from Michel, for as stoic as Michel was the lion liked to growl…especially at him. He was the embodiment of the Orlesian lion; growly, quiet, dangerous, and vicious. It alarmed him to no end realizing that he knew the growl so well he didn’t even have to see him to know who it was coming from. He knew he irritated the Chevalier, most of it revolved around him being a Mage, from Tevinter, and generally obnoxious when he teased him.

“Don’t bother to knock,” Michel snarled to the invasion of their privacy the irritation in his voice was something Dorian was very much used to.

Dorian reached the landing and rounded the railing heading for the couch. He paid no attention to Khrys quickly covering herself with her robe. “I did. Twice,” he answered taking in a deep breath and wrinkled his nose. “It smells like an Antivan brothel in here…Dear _de Chevin_ , be a lamb and open those doors.” Dorian poked at the sore spot for Michel, his blood, not that Dorian had anything against it but it was a way to tease him.

Michel glowered at Dorian and had to remind himself why he didn’t kill the magister on sight for being rude or downright annoying. _“He’s Bree’s father and Khrys’ best friend,”_ he reminded himself. “Khrys,” he implored, trying to come up with a reason not to throw Dorian back down the steps.

Khrys giggled a little and patted her loves back as she passed him. “He’s teasing you, Vhenan.”

Dorian smirked and sat down on the couch like he owned the place. He’d slept on that specific couch quite a bit when Bree was a baby and it was just as comfortable as it was then. He spent the first year of Bree’s life camped on that couch and a few months before that. He crossed his legs and stretched his arms out across the back of the couch. “It’s about time you two came up for air anyway. It’s nearly midday. You’re making the rest of us look bad, Michel, the stamina of a Champion has not been oversold.”

Michel gave him a sarcastic smile as he straightened his clothing. “Did you want something, Dorian, or did you just come here to be rude?” Michel had nothing against Dorian, when they met they were mostly indifferent about each other and all through the fight against Corypheus it was the same. When he began his relationship with Khrys Dorian’s attitude toward him changed. They didn’t really like each other but they had two things in common. Khrystabel and Gabriella were the most important things in Thedas to them, so they tolerated each other.

“I need to speak to Khrys,” he stated and noticed the flower in her hair. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head with a lingering smile. “So you did pay attention in the brothel in Antiva…stepping up the romance a bit.”

“I have courted women before.” He responded, the irritation in his voice was only amplified by the smirk on Dorian’s face. Rather than kill him for being an ass Michel decided to bow out. Dorian purposely did this to get a rise out of him but to his shock he’d started getting used to it. He glared again and huffed turning his eyes to Khrys. “I’m going to go…I will leave you to him.”

Dorian didn’t look away as Khrys grabbed a handful of Michel’s shirt pulling him close rising up on her toes to kiss him. Michel was a tall man for one who was Elf-blooded and damned handsome, the scars on the left side of his face a reminder of the day he lost everything. He allowed a slight smile, he liked seeing Khrys happy. She’d been a mess for a long while after Solas left, then came back, took her arm, and dropped a brand new mess on her head. Michel made her happy; he was the only Chevalier he respected by he wouldn’t tell him that.

Michel left their sight to change his clothes as Khrys did what Dorian suggested and opened the balcony doors to let the fresh air in and the musky sex smell out. “How was Denerim?”

“Oh, you know a little less barbaric then the rest of Fereldan,” he said sarcastically and sighed. “Lydia and Alistair are doing well. But the best part…you are not going to believe.”

Khrys eyed him confused as Michel came out of where he’d hid to change his clothes in record time. Dorian observed another one of their little moments and the sweet kiss that he gave her just before leaving. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other apparently and he almost felt bad for interrupting them. Michel eyed him on the way out but said nothing. He was good to Khrys and protected Bree so the mutual toleration. “So what happened?” she asked gesturing to the tea she was pouring.

Dorian shook his head and fiddled with the book on the couch beside him, reading the title, _Second Shield_ …Michel’s book. “Alistair and Lydia suggested Duncan as a match for Bree.”  
Khrys froze in mid sip of her tea and looked at him with a furrowed brow. “He did what?”

Dorian cast the book aside and sighed. “Yep, he and Lydia sat me down, served me a Tevinter Red and told me that they thought Bree and Duncan would make a cute couple. Don’t get me wrong, Duncan’s a good kid and I like him but…”

“She’s only fifteen,” Khrys finished and set her tea cup down beginning to pace and fidget.

Dorian smiled thankful that she could see his point of view. “My thoughts exactly,” he agreed.

Khrys couldn’t get over the obvious question, the one that shocked her more than the actual question. “Why would they offer their only son, the heir to their kingdom? Bree’s not an heir to anything except maybe Skyhold but we’re a military fortress not a noble house,” she mused, trying to understand this. Nobles didn’t marry for love or at least extremely few did, their marriages were for gain. “The only nobility she has comes from you. Why would they want Duncan to have someone with no standing…or at least not a lot? Why not one of Sebastian’s daughters or Gaspard’s…he has a daughter right?”

Dorian nodded. “Charlotte, yes,” he said then paused not sure how he became so familiar with other peoples’ families.

“Right,” she said and sighed heavily. “So, what did you say?”

“A huge, resounding, no,” he answered. “She’s only fifteen and I’m not going to force her into anything that she doesn’t want to do,” he explained sounding as adamant as possible. “I’ll commend them in the fact that they did it in person and never mentioned a quid pro quo but…”

“Quid pro quo for what? The Inquisition’s neutral, we don’t have anything,” she said took a drink of her tea before setting it back down, thinking.

“I’d be more comfortable if Malcolm was the suitor…at least I know he doesn’t have anything except an insane father,” Dorian said and Khrys chuckled slightly.

“Anders isn’t nearly as insane as he used to be…we can thank the Nightmare for that,” she said dryly and Dorian actually agreed with that.

“I still say no,” he repeated. “Not yet…she’s too young. Let her be a kid a little while longer,” he said and saw her turn back toward him with a familiar look on her face. He didn’t like that look. “Uh oh…I know that look. You’re about to disagree with me aren’t you?”

She sighed and sat down beside him. “I think it couldn’t hurt to let them meet and see what happens,” she hedged, and saw Dorian fidget a little. “You said you liked him.”

Dorian scoffed and shook his head. “Not enough to marry my daughter.”

She giggled at him. Dorian’s best and worst quality as a father was that he was over protective, but over protective when it came to the people around her not her hobbies and activities. He mentored her growing magical talent and even encouraged her to go riding on her own. His issues were with people around her, new people and up until now he never worried about men. “Ahh, Dorian…always the over protective father,” She said warmly with a smile, it was a quality in him that she really did love. She loved Dorian and always would. “You can’t keep her your little girl forever.”

“Watch me try,” he said firmly and quickly. Dorian didn’t have what Khrys did, she had Michel and Dorian had put his personal life on hold to focus on Bree he didn’t have a stable relationship, he had Bree. He doted on her and spent as much time with her as possible, reading, teaching, everything his father did for him but without the judgement.

“Dorian,” she began and he sighed.

“No,” he repeated.

“Dorian, listen, there is no harm in letting them meet,” she tried again, and curled her feel under her shifting position to lean against him. “You raised an amazing girl.”

Dorian let her snuggle up to him and put his left arm around her. “Me? I didn’t do it alone,” he chuckled.

“The incessant stubbornness is all you,” she insisted with a giggle. “Think about what will happen if you keep her from this. She’s too young to get married but if you keep her from this ‘opportunity’ and Alistair’s right about them being a good match and they like each other…”

She felt Dorian’s chest heave a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I can, Khrys,” he said quietly.

“Try,” she requested quietly, and Dorian was quiet, thinking about this. When he took a step back and looked beyond his over protective father reservations he realized there was no logical reason he had to keep them from at the very least being introduced. He let him fingers lightly rake though her hair, an odd sight to the outside observer but his affection for Khrys wasn’t sexual. Apart from the one night together nearly sixteen years ago he never looked at her in that way but he did love her. _“When did I become so complicated?”_


	3. Letters

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Three: Letters

 

The crisp mountain air of the Frostbacks felt good against Bree’s skin, the sky was so clear and blue there wasn’t a cloud in sight, causing the bright sun to gleam off the pure white snow. Skyhold never really rose above 40 degrees so while some of the snow melted in the summer time the main snow pack remained, it just made Skyhold muddy. Bree looked over the jagged peaks and then down into the valley far below and could barely make out the town nestled at the base of the mountain. There was a long and winding road that lead from there and up to Skyhold’s gate but it was unbelievably well-guarded by Cullen’s men. Her mount shifted beneath her, the snow crunching under the mare’s big feet. Skye was a seven year old Dalish All-Bred that’d been a gift from her father three years ago. She was just over fifteen hands and honey bay, almost buckskin in color. She had two white stockings on her hind legs that reached up to her hocks leaving only a few inches of black before transitioning into the brown. She was a stocky mare and one of Thom’s favorite former horses, smart but had a mind of her own, the type of horses he liked.

Bree liked it in Skyhold, but she really didn’t have much to compare it to besides Halamshiral, Redcliffe, and Val Royeaux. Skyhold was home and it always would be. Looking at the sun she decided it was time to head back and spun Skye to head back down the scout trail and return to the Fortress, she’d already been gone long enough to make Fenris and maybe Dorian worry. She kicked Skye into a canter on the trail and then into a hard gallop as she raced across the straight away to the drawbridge. She laughed seeing the gate guards skitter out of the way; they were used to her blasting across the bridge at a breakneck pace. Skye’s hooves pounded against the stone before she slowed up reaching the muddy lower courtyard.

People scattered at the reckless riding but she only giggled trotting Skye to the stables. There she found Thom, Captain of the Fortress Guard. Skyhold wasn’t a city but after the Inquisition underwent an organizational shuffle a ‘City Guard’ was created. Thom was placed in charge of it but didn’t like the misnomer and began calling it Skyhold Fortress Guard which eventually got swindled down to Fortress Guard.

Thom Rainier, formerly known as Blackwall, remained with the Inquisition much to the displeasure of Alistair and Lydia. Alistair was disgusted with him for pretending to be a Warden and offending the Order he held so dear to him. Lydia wasn’t much happier with him either and her order to the Inquisition was simple, she gave Thom two choices, he could either join the Wardens and hope to survive the taint spending the rest of his life serving the order that he’d disgraced or he could give back all the artifacts, banners, and journals he’d found across Thedas and never set foot in a Warden Keep again. Her punishment was far lighter than what Alistair wanted to do, for the crime of Impersonating a Warden-Constable, stealing the artifacts, and misusing the sacred Warden Treaties the King wanted to throw him in the prison at Vigil’s Keep for the rest of his life or flat out execute him. Lydia, however, was the Warden-Commander, the only Warden-Commander left in Southern Thedas, so the decision was ultimately hers. If there was one man in the Inquisition that she could say she hated, it was Thom Rainier. Too much of a coward to join the Wardens himself, he took the name of a great man and pretended to be him disgracing the ancient order. Not everyone saw it that way though, Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe, Lydia’s second in Command, actually liked Thom despite his past indiscretions.

For now, Thom was the Captain of the Fortress Guard and a senior agent of the Inquisition; he also took over a lot of the cavalry training with the young horses. “You should slow down, young Lady,” he admonished as she turned Skye in a tight circle before jumping down, “one of these days you’re going to run someone over.”

“Nonsense,” she replied with a smile. “Skye’ll just jump over them.”

Thom’s throat rumbled in a hearty chuckle as he walked over to Bree and Skye. “I’ll take care of her if you like, Mi’Lady,” he said and offered to take Skye’s reins but Bree shook her head.

“Oh, no, it’s alright, I got it,” she said and Thom nodded watching the teenager take her horse into the stable to unsaddle her and clean her up.

Thom went back to tending to the big bay Forder he was now working with. This one he intended to be another one of his. Dragon, his twelve year old grey Courser, was by far his favorite horse but he was getting old. He was fine warhorse, highly trained and a champion tournament mount. The bay had no name yet was tall and heavily built, like all Forders were, and mild mannered. He was only three so he didn’t know too much right now.

The stables housed almost exclusively horses; Khrystabel’s Wild Hart was the only non-horse within Skyhold. Tem was massive compared to the horses, big and dark red, the Hart’s antlers were enormous requiring a bigger stall just for them. Tem was also eerily smart and selected who she listened to, Khrys and Fenris were about it. Occasionally the oversized Elk complied with a request, and it had to be a request, from Ulrich, Bree, and Thom. The only horses that got along with the Hart were Dragon and Malcolm’s horse Kyp.

Thom heard the shriek from a child making the Forder jump under his hand but he settled with a gentle pat from him. He looked back to the entrance and figured who it was before he caught sight.

“Arabela-…” Cullen’s voice scolded in his father tone at the little girls’ loud shriek. “Bowen, don’t run. Bowen!”

Both children shrilled happily racing into the stables going straight for their favorite animal, Tem. The Hart may have been slightly temperamental but the one thing she liked was children, anyone who said that Harts weren’t intelligent like humans or elves never saw Tem gently play with the kids letting them hang from her antlers and climb all over her.

Both children zoomed by Thom and the Forder making him chuckle slightly. “Hey! I said don’t run!” Cullen barked his tone the one he reserved for commanding his troops. It was also the tone he used when he wasn’t kidding. Arabela and Bowen slowed to a walk but swiftly headed to the Hart’s stall.

Cullen growled in exasperation as the kids laughed happily petting the Hart’s forehead when she dropped her head down for them. Thom chuckled as the Commander made his way toward him.

“Father Cullen,” Thom greeted with a gruff chuckle. Seeing Cullen as a father was a strange sight, Thom had always thought that. Not that he wasn’t a good father, or an apparently good husband, it was just strange to see him married at all. The man worked more than he slept and flustered so easily, he was protective though. Thom calling him ‘Father Cullen’ was always a joke as there was ‘Father’ Cullen and ‘Commander’ Cullen, who were two different people.

“Shut up,” Cullen groaned knowing that it was a joke, a running joke between them.

Thom chuckled as Cullen watched the kids but stood by Thom and the Forder. “Kids are yours today?” he asked and Cullen sighed. This early in the morning the kids were usually with Ariel and Cullen was hip deep in briefings, meetings, and reading reports. The Inquisitions Army ran better, with more discipline than any other force in Thedas because of Cullen’s diligence.

“Ariel’s not feeling well this morning,” he answered and spied his target coming down the ladder from the hayloft. “Ulrich!” he called.

Ulrich was the Horse Master now since Dennett retired, he was also Ariel’s older brother making him Cullen’s brother-in-law. He was a tall lanky man with red hair, pale skin, and a sharp sense of humor. Ulrich wasn’t much good for fighting but he was good with horses, he had a knack for them, a calming presence. The kids abandon Tem at the sight of their Uncle and ran to him clinging to his legs and shrieking happily. It took him a moment to shake them off and they ran back to the Hart though Arabela split off and went to her father’s horse, a heavy sorrel Forder mare named Flame. Cullen was nothing if not unimaginative but as ordinary as the mare looked she and Cullen together were a heck of a team.

“Hi, Cullen,” Ulrich greeted slipping through the rails in the fence. “what brings your from your roost this early?”

“Ariel’s not feeling well and I have a meeting with Charter and Josephine, can you watch them?” he asked getting right down to the point. “Ariel didn’t sleep well last night but she’s finally sleeping now…I don’t want the kids waking her up.”

Ulrich nodded with a little hesitation. “As best I can…I’ve got a few new horses to tend to and a few injuries I want to stay on top of,” he said. The problem was when Cullen’s kids needed watching they needed _watching_. Left to their own devices for too long they got into all sorts of trouble. Knocking over haystacks, accidently letting a few horses out of their stalls, they’d even locked themselves on a balcony once but thanks to Cole no one needed to bust down a door to get them back. They were hellions, plain and simple.

“I can watch them, Cullen,” Bree offered from behind them as she led Skye toward the paddock area after unsaddling her.

Cullen turned toward the sound of her voice and she stopped to talk with him letting Skye nose the dirt looking for grass. He wasn’t opposed to the offer but never liked asking for any kind of help. “Are you sure? They’re not your responsibility.”

Bree giggled with a friendly smile. “It’s no problem. I still remember all the times I sat in your office when Mom and Dad were busy,” she said and Cullen nodded with a slight smile. He’d babysat Bree more times than he could count but the difference was she was mellow, his kids weren’t. She’d sat on his lap watching him write dispatches and sift through letters. Arabela would do that but Bowen got bored too easily.

“If it’s no trouble I won’t deny the help,” he said and she nodded.

“It’s okay, I was gonna go up the library and do some reading with Dad,” she explained and Cullen snorted. Arabela and Bowen apart were manageable but together they were a handful, Khrys even had a hard time with them along with the others who were usually tagged for babysitting duty. Fenris was a surprisingly good babysitter but not because of his inner father, the Elf looked strange and acted strange, mostly the kids were too mesmerized, curious, scared, or all three to do much of anything besides what he told them to.  
Dorian though, had embraced fatherhood and while he winged it when he had to with Bree, he’d developed a knack for it over the years. Cullen may have had his own misgivings about the Tevinter Mage but he was shockingly good with kids.

Cullen nodded to the teenager with a thankful smile. “Thank you, Bree,” he said sincerely. “I’ll come get them as soon as I’m finished.”

“Take your time,” she assured as Ulrich offered to take Skye from her. The mare was patiently waiting to go back into the paddock so she could graze. “I heard you say Ariel wasn’t feeling good…so take your time. I’ll watch them.”

Cullen patted her arm appreciatively before moving to the stables and letting out his trademark whistle calling his children to him like magnets.

“You’re a good girl, Mi’Lady,” Thom praised as she observed Cullen hugging the two kids before leaving.

Bree turned to him as he had gone back to brushing off the bay. “Don’t tell anyone,” she chuckled causing him to laugh out loud.

**

Tea didn’t used to be a drink that Dorian liked, he preferred wine but Khrys gradually turned him onto it. He actually enjoyed Khrys’ favorite Dalish herbal tea and he carried a cup of it up the steps to the balcony near the apartment wing. Fenris was seated on one of the couches fiddling with an exotic looking knife and Michel on the other reading through a handful of messages. Dorian looked down at the white haired Elf eyeing the knife he’d picked up on the last mission. “Is that a Tevinter seal?” he asked and Fenris shrugged.

“Seems to be,” Fenris replied flatly.

Dorian cocked an eyebrow to his rather curt response. Fenris wasn’t really chatty with him to begin with but sometimes it seemed like he took it to extremes. Dorian admitted that he wasn’t much better only instead of insulting mages and prissy nobles he went after the Elf’s broody behavior and general irritability. “I thought you were in Orlais,” he said and paced a little between Fenris and the balcony door. Michel had gone with Fenris and Cole so Dorian had probably walked in on the two of them finishing up a debriefing before the meeting that Khrys was soon to have.

To this day Fenris wouldn’t dare go near Tevinter without the might of the Inquisition at his back. Cole was good and he’d fair better than most with the Spirit at his back but he wasn’t an Army. “Close to the border. Took it off one of the agents protecting our target,” he explained, starting to wrap the handle in soft leather.

“Ahh, a souvenir,” Dorian said, Fenris didn’t respond.

“Did you tell him yet?” Khrys asked trotting up the steps of the smaller balcony that used to be occupied by Vivienne.

Michel stood politely turning to face her; it was an Orlesian trait, when a woman entered the room you stood.

The question was directed toward Dorian and Michel narrowed his eyes looking between Dorian and her seeming a little puzzled. “Tell me what?” he asked and she looked at Dorian. Bree may not have called Michel ‘dad’ but he helped raise her too and had a vested interest in her life.

“Fenris, could you…” she began and the Elf stood nodding to her.

“Inquisitor.” He said politely as he brushed by Dorian. “Mage.”

Dorian couldn’t resist. “Elf.”

Khrys shook her head; Fenris was going to kill him one of these days.

Now that Fenris had departed Dorian decided that unsavory tasks were best done quickly, “Alistair wants to marry his son Duncan to Bree,” Dorian blurted and Khrys blinked. After nearly two weeks of humming and hawing over this and being a general pain in her ass Dorian just blurted it out.

“Well, that was certainly subtle,” she joked with a smile, and Michel had a narrowed expression on his face as he watched Dorian.

And the Great Game began. Michel sat. “You want to wed her to the Fereldan Prince?” he clarified and Dorian turned to him quickly.

“I never said _I_ wanted to,” Dorian corrected sharply. “I said _Alistair_ wanted to.”

Michel would be lying if he said he didn’t feel like a father to Bree, he could still vividly remember the day he met the little three year old. He’d been away from Skyhold for year before returning and when he did Khrys had a daughter. He remembered when the little girl met him she’d hugged his right leg tightly, her big eyes staring up at him with a happy smile. It’d been a confusing and very new feeling for him. He didn’t know how to handle a child and over time he became more comfortable with the little girl. She looked up to him no matter how much distance he tried to put between himself and her mother.

He didn’t have to question that this was a huge issue for Dorian, as much as the mage irritated the hell out of him he was a good father, attentive, fair but firm, and as protective as they came. Khrys was the more level-headed one of the pair so he suspected that she wasn’t as opposed to the idea. It wasn’t like she was going to marry her daughter off to the first suitor who came to call but she wouldn’t automatically shut it down as he figured Dorian had. For his part in this it flattered him a little to be clued into the ‘proposal’ by the king but to be perfectly honest he didn’t see an issue. This was the Great Game, Fereldan style, meaning it was much less bloody than the one its western neighbors played.

“So what’s the problem?” he asked.

“What’s the problem?” Dorian repeated surprised. “She’s fifteen, you ignorant fool.”

Probably not the wisest words to say to a man who was considered to be the best swordsman in Orlais but he just leaned back in the couch looking up at Dorian thinking of what to say next. Michel was used to the insults, most of them weren’t meant to anger him, not really; it was just the Dorian bluster. Michel knew why Dorian despised Chevaliers and didn’t take it personal. Once, Dorian called him a ‘half-breed bastard’ and Michel drew on him, not only because it offended him but Bree as well. After his unequivocal threat and accurate point Dorian made sure to curb his comments when he as angry. “She could do a lot worse than a crown prince.”

Dorian blinked. _“Well, the Chevalier has a point,”_ he thought, he hated when that happened. Dorian had to concede that point and shrugged. “True but that’s not the point. She’s young.”

Michel had seen far worse and looked from Dorian to Khrys and back to Dorian. “She’s fifteen…isn’t that when you nobles start tossing your children around for marriages anyway?” he made it a point to specify the nobles, he wasn’t one, he pretended yes but he was just a Chevalier that wasn’t executed for his lie.

Khrys couldn’t help but smile as she watched her lover and Dorian verbally fence over this. To her he wasn’t Michel the elf-blooded peasant bastard, he was Michel de Chevin, a distant relative of a noble family and Gaspard let him keep the lie. Michel saw a lot during his service to Celene and had been through more but he knew that game entailed.

“See! Right there. That’s my point,” Dorian pounced, pointing at him. “I had to deal with that, you got to witness that with Celene, and I won’t make her do it. She can marry whoever she wants, I won’t choose for her.”

Michel sighed, sometimes Dorian was the smartest man he knew but he’d _never_ tell him that, and then there were times like these when he had the father tunnel vision that made him appear rather idiotic. “And if she chooses to marry the Prince?” Dorian ground his teeth together; the Chevalier was on a roll today. He distinctly remembered Khrys saying almost the exact same thing in the countless discussions they’d had since he’d returned. “I have met Prince Duncan; he’s a good young man…and not a mage.”

“Oh good, insult everyone in the room, why don’t you, I was waiting for that,” Dorian snarked back and Michel stood with a sigh, he meant no offense by the comment but mages still had a distinct lack of normalcy, marrying an ordinary Prince seemed like a the best idea.

“I don’t see what the problem is, Dorian,” he said. “She’s a young woman, she’s smart, if you don’t like the Prince that’s your choice but she’ll do what she wants to do anyway,” he finished and moved past him to Khrys. “My advice is to talk to her about it.”

Dorian blinked at Michel’s reaction, he actually made a lot of sense, as the blonde man leaned in on Khrys, giving her a light kiss on the lips before heading down the stairs to the main hall, Dorian practically flopped down on the couch that Michel had been on and huffed. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied, we told the peasant noble.”

Khrys narrowed her expression to a glare. “Don’t call him that, Dorian, he has a name…and he’s right.”

Dorian recognized his error and sighed, his expression was apologetic but he didn’t say anything. That wasn’t the first time she’d scolded him for that and she scolded Michel for calling him ‘Mage’ all the time as well. “I invited Duncan to come to the next Council meeting,” he informed, resigning himself to the fact that it really couldn’t hurt for them to at least meet. “The kid wants to learn about the Inquisition.”

Khrys studied him; she knew Dorian well and could see that he didn’t like this. Bree was growing up and it didn’t sit well with him. It never sat well with any father to watch their little girl move forward with her life. To meet a man, or woman, marry and begin the next step of their lives. Bree was everything to him so she could see why he was having some trouble. “I’d be delighted to show him,” she agreed, and walked onto the balcony taking a breath of fresh air.

“Still wish we had a second?” he asked letting a glimmer of his humor show in his tone.

Khrys giggled as the memories of their one and only night together came back. “Right, because you so would have been up for a second ‘breeding attempt’.”

Dorian scoffed cringing to the term, it was used in jest but Elan coined the gentle euphemism when she gave him the potion. His memories of that night were still a bit foggy but obviously the ultimate goal had been achieved. The potion did its job and Khrys did most of the work after his awkward bumbling of doing something completely unnatural to him was drowned by testosterone and whatever ingredients Elan put in the potion that tasted like sour milk and Spindleweed. “That’s a good point,” he said looking straight ahead and snatching the pillow from the other side of the couch and hugged it against his chest.

He still remembered the day after or rather the week after; there wasn’t one person, not one damn person, in Skyhold who didn’t know after the first day. Cullen couldn’t have put a finer point on how fast gossip spread through the damn Barracks. Bull was the worst and Cole wasn’t much better. Cole was at least completely oblivious to exactly what had happened so it was like awkwardly explaining it to a child with more questions than you could shake a stick at. Bull…Bull was just crude, How was it? How tight was she? How did she do it? Was she aggressive? Did she do anything else to please you? And any other lewd, crude, or rude comment or question the Qunari Merc could think of.

She sighed and turned away from the scenic view to her friend on the couch. “Dorian, you’re sulking,” she chided, trying to stifle a laugh at the way he appeared on the couch feet stretched out, slouching, clutching the pillow to his chest, with a pitiful expression.

He didn’t move just sighed. “So what if I am?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle as she moved behind him crooking her right arm around his chest hugging him from behind. “You need to relax, Dorian, it’s starting to age you.”

Dorian snorted a laugh at her comment. “Never, I’ll stay this devastatingly handsome until the day I die.” He smirked and heard her giggle feeling her chin on his left shoulder.

“That could be sooner than you think if you don’t relax,” she added and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, I have a meeting.”

“Tell my dear Commander I said hello,” he snickered, needling Cullen was his second favorite pastime but it was far safer than his favorite one. Taunting Fenris and Michel was like taking his life into his own hands but he couldn’t resist.

Khrys patted his shoulder and moved away with a smile before pausing and looking at him. “Any progress with fixing his tonic?”

Dorian moved his feet but still didn’t leave from his sulking position. “Not yet. I haven’t finished the books from Denerim though.”

She nodded, satisfied with his answer and left him there to sulk at the idea of his daughter possibly being married off.

**

When Khrys entered the Council Room the usual suspects were there. Charter, the red-haired city Elf succeeded Leliana after she was made Devine. While Charter didn’t have the same touch that Leliana did, she got the job done. She helped Morrigan control the networks of Eluvians and was the one who controlled Fenris and Cole’s assignments. Morrigan was the Inquisition’s ‘Arcane’ advisor, not that the couple hundred Mages present weren’t advisors enough in their own right, but Morrigan did have knowledge that no one but Solas had. Morrigan had come up with a way to use the Eluvian crossroads as a way to move around and pretty much steal other Eluvians from Solas. It had taken years to amass the network they had and still getting Fenris to go through it was like trying to give a cat a bath. Josephine still functioned as the Inquisition’s Ambassador and Political arm; she’d left for several years to maintain her family’s estate. As the head of the House she was responsible for her family and that meant she needed to go back to Antiva full time. Josie had only recently returned to Skyhold at the request of Khrys. Cullen was like Skyhold’s fixed point, he never changed, his army had doubled in size since the Exalted Council but it was scattered throughout Thedas. The contingent in the Western Approach was his biggest aside from the Army in the valley below, under the command of Rylen at Echoback Fort. The contingent provided back up for the Warden’s at Griffon Wing, the Darkspawn infested land had the biggest military presence in Orlais that wasn’t the Imperial Army. Rylen also kept an eye on the Mage College Fiona had set up in the old Tevinter Ruin. It had taken years to clean it up and make sure it was safe for use. Cullen’s other big branch was in Fereldan, Briony commanded the force in Denerim, though it was half the size of the one in the Western Approach.

Khrys and Cullen found each other in the hall heading to the end of the hall. “Good morning, Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted and Khrys narrowed her eyes at him. He looked a bit ragged, tired, and little pale. Lately he’d always looked a little pale.

“Cullen,” she smiled with a nod. “You okay?”

Cullen nodded, he’d been fielding questions like that for weeks, and he hadn’t felt this bad in years. Between the Lyrium withdrawal rearing its ugly head again, his hyperactive children, and his wife feeling under the weather he felt like hell. “I’m fine, Khrys, but thank you for asking.”

“Pain today?” she asked and the stoic commander pushed the door open with an audible groan.

“I’m fine, Inquisitor,” he repeated sternly and Khrys nodded to herself. Typical Cullen, when he wasn’t feeling well he was grumpy.

A chorus of good mornings flooded through the room as Cullen and Khrys entered. The War Table was still there and meticulously maintained by Cullen and Charter, anyone else who touched it took their lives into their own hands. There were no chairs and hadn’t been any for years, it made any meetings go by quicker when everyone had to stand.

“Good morning,” Khrys answered and the meeting commenced quickly as it usually did with Cullen present. He wasn’t one to stand on ceremony especially when he wasn’t feeling good.

The basics of the weekly meeting were much the same as before. Cullen’s army hadn’t changed, Denerim, under Briony’s command, was functioning well as was Winterwatch, Grand Villa, and Hargrave all under the command of Captain Kirstin Livit. In Orlais, Captain Julius Bordeaux commanded the troops at Suledin Keep and there was never much to worry about with Gaspard catering to the Inquisition’s every whim. Of course their busiest post was clear out in the Western Approach, Darkspawn continued to flood the blight poisoned land, Rylen had reported a few Dragons in the area no doubt offspring from the one killed during the War, so generally it was business as usual for Echoback Fort. Rylen’s reports were always fun to read if not a little worrisome.

As the meeting progressed through Josephine’s short briefing they got to Charter. Khrys had already gotten a briefing from Fenris and Michel, but Charter would help connect the rest of the dots her agents had acquired.

“Fenris and Cole reported more signs of those strange ruins,” Charter began and Cullen snorted.

“Not sure a marker stone in far flung areas of Thedas counts as a ruin,” Cullen grumbled and Khrys let out a soft chuckle.

“Can’t deny the one they found out beyond the Abyssal Rift wasn’t a ruin,” she replied and Cullen had to nod to that. “Fenris said Cole took rubbings of the marker they found. Have we found anyone who can translate the writing?”

Charter shook her head. “No one has seen it. The writing doesn’t even resemble anything in Thedas.”

Khrys thought a moment. “Our Agents keep running into Fen’Harel’s so he wants whatever’s at the end of the rainbow and that means so do we,” she reinforced and sighed. “Has Sutherland reported in yet?”

“No,” Charter replied.

“How long’s he been out?” Khrys asked.

“Over a month,” Charter answered and saw Khrys’ worry. Sutherland was hands down Khrys’ second favorite crew next to Fenris and Cole. Sutherland had been around since Haven was buried and did more recruiting than anyone else did traversing Thedas ‘adventuring’.

“Antiva, right?” Cullen inquired and Khrys shook her head.

“Rivain,” she corrected. “Hope he wasn’t stupid enough to go to Par Vollen to look for anything.”

Cullen chuckled. “Devon’s not that much of a thrill seeker although we may have to pry him from the Rivaini brothels.”

The group laughed and Charter shook her head. “Shayd would kill him,” she giggled. “I’ll send a raven…see if we can track him down.”

Sutherland was great at what he did, and Khrys was certain he could handle himself but he did have a tendency to stumble into trouble. “Morrigan?”

“My and Charter’s agents have uncovered two more Eluvians that are in the process of being restored. Two agents of Fen’Harel were also discovered trying to use an Eluvian to get into the Crossroads,” the Chasind woman stated her speech proper and smooth as it always was. Cullen may not have trusted the Witch but he was always impressed by how well-spoken she was, she was Chasind…a Witch of the Wilds, he grew up around knights and nobles who had the vocabulary of a child and here was this Chasind witch spouting words he needed to look up on occasion.

As the meeting continued Khrys couldn’t help but think of something Cole brought back a while ago, something about those strange writings and markings was driving her crazy, she’s seen them somewhere but she was damned if she could figure out where.

**

Education in Skyhold was the same as you would find anywhere else, separate from the school in Herald, Skyhold had a dedicated teacher who lived in the Fortress. She was a Dwarf, a surfacer from Kirkwall that Varric had recommended, named Tashi Freeman. She was good with the academics and was able to roll with the more unusual things about Skyhold. The most unusual thing she’d been faced with was Cole. The spirit was extremely adept at killing demons, darkspawn, and Venatori but he had the mind of a child. He didn’t understand the waking world so he took it upon himself to sit in on the classes and learn. Khrys had to hand it to Tashi, she was certainly able to adapt.

Now that Bree was older she got to study with her dad. Dorian was an archivist, plain and simple. He loved to read and she remembered him reading to her since as far back as she could remember. She’d sit on his lap while he quietly thumbed through some text on ancient magic or rituals or just plain history. Her mother did the same thing only the topic for her was mainly Dalish history or any texts about the ancient elves and Arlathan. She knew three languages by the time she was 10, Tevene, Common, and Elven.

Bree herded Bowen and Arabela through the halls up to the library. Bowen was six and looked like Cullen, thick blonde hair and that lopsided smile; he was full of energy and had a mischievous streak. Arabela was nine, a little calmer than her brother with long locks of red hair like her mother. She didn’t like to wear dresses, she liked to play in the mud and run around acting like Cullen commanding the troops. His officers simply chuckled at the little girl pretending to order them around.

Dorian heard the sound of loud children echoing up the hallway and saw Arabela and Bowen being herded by his daughter. He was proud of Bree, she’d become a fine and responsible young lady, if she had these two children it was highly probably that she volunteered for babysitting duty. That made him proud, she was kind and selfless and always willing to help. Traits no doubt inherited from Khrys and not him.

“You are late, Gabriella,” he scolded but he was actually teasing her. He knew her morning routine usually centered on a morning ride so he was actually surprised that she wasn’t later than just a few minutes. She gave her father a sarcastic smile and ushered the children toward him. “And I see you’ve brought helpers.”

“Watching them for Cullen for a little while,” she explained. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Dorian smiled. “Not at all. What better person to help shape the inquiring minds of the young?” he said with a chuckle.

“Tashi,” Bree replied and Dorian paused at the obvious snipe from his daughter’s sharp wit.

He laughed and squatted down to the lower shelf of on the cases in his little research alcove. “You have been spending too much time with Fenris,” he replied and pulled a book from the shelf.

Bree chuckled a little. “He’s not that bad you know,” she said and earned a sideways look from her father. No words were needed to know what he thought to that. He knew Fenris wasn’t bad, he had a soft spot for Bree despite her being a mage but he irritated the fuck out him.

“Ara, why don’t you try this one today, and help your brother with the words,” the little girl nodded at him and she and Bowen sat down on the floor cracking the old book open. “As for you…,” he began turning to Bree, “still interested in Knight-Enchanting?”

Bree nodded happily. “Yes,” she smiled; it fascinated her, the old arts of the battlemages. “I love reading the stories of Queen Lydia against the Archdemon and Dragons with a swords and a staff.”

Dorian shrugged a little. “Lydia’s more of an Arcane Warrior than a Knight-Enchanter but never the less…I was able to bring this book back from Denerim,” he said and passed her a thick book that was worn and used but well-cared for. “Lydia sends her regards and to keep it as long as you need it.”

Bree smiled and gave him a hug holding the book in one hand. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said and Dorian smiled. Bree was an extremely talented mage, a Dreamer even, able to enter the Fade at will; she’d been tutored and mentored by Khrys, Fiona, and himself. Like he and Khrys she was especially attuned with Pyromancy but it was time she started looking to a specialization, something to hone her skill. She liked the battlemages, they were her favorite stories growing up and they were still her favorites now.

“You’re welcome,” he replied as she put the book down on the table standing over it and started to flip through the pages.

“Your mother and I are both Necromancers, you haven’t given any thought to that?” he asked and she looked at him with a twisted expression.

“No offense, Dad, but that creeps me out,” she replied and saw him chuckle. “Raising the dead, syphoning from dead bodies, marking them as thralls…” she embellished a shudder. “Creepy.”

Dorian’s chuckle remained, Necromancy wasn’t for everyone, he taught Khrys years ago but the number of Necromancers outside Nevarra had dwindled, most incorrectly tied it to Blood Magic so the discipline was starting to fall out of favor. “Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about you doing Blood Magic.”

“Lord Pavus,” a guard announced as he made his way to him from the stairs. “Two dispatches for you, Ser; one from Val Royeaux and one from Starkhaven.”

Dorian nodded at the man and took the two sealed letters. They got regular letters from both locations though why the guard sought him out rather than Josephine was a little unusual. Dorian understood why they were brought to him when he looked down at them. They were personally addressed to him. That was a bit unusual; most were addressed to Khrys or Josephine.

He moved away from Bree and leaned on the railing behind him starting with the Starkhaven letter, he wasn’t in the mood for sifting through Orlesian fluff. Sebastian tended to be direct, if not a little wordy. He skimmed the letter and narrowed his eyes at it. Sebastian was congratulating him on the offer from Alistair, but how the hell did he know about that. As far as Dorian knew it wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge, hence the reason they did it in private and face to face. Sebastian went on to praise the pair and offered his blessing if Dorian thought it best to pursue this union and not one with Orlais. To that he narrowed his eyes further and became acutely aware of the letter from Orlais in his hand bearing a royal seal. If what he thought was in the letter he might just jump over the railing. He ripped into the Orlesian letter and read it. His expression dropped down to the valley floor along with his stomach. He blinked several times to the letter and swallowed.

“Bree, I’ll be back. Keep reading,” he said and swiftly left heading for Khrys.

**

Michel followed the sound of the books rustling and chairs scraping across the stone as he made his way down the steps. This place was nicknamed ‘The Vault’ and existed below the Rotunda. The defunct passageway had been discovered by the Dwarven builders hired to shore up the Fortress several years ago. Now it was filled with the trinkets, artifacts, and the general unknown items that the Inquisition came across over the past fifteen years. There were shelves and shelves of books so old the pages were so delicate they nearly cracked when you flipped them.

He entered the dusty, cold, hold and tracked the noise to the far side finding Khrys trying to reach an item on the top of the shelf. Standing on a stool the shrimp-sized Elf could reach the book but manipulating it with one hand was proving to be quite the challenge. He examined the situation, taking the time to stare at her ass a moment before speaking up; the dainty little Elf was gorgeous and he counted himself blessed by the Maker to have her.

“Here,” he began and she looked over her shoulder down to him, “let me.”

She didn’t argue, in fact she welcomed his help, she felt his right hand lightly brace the small of her back until she was flat footed on the stone floor, she only came to his shoulder. He stepped up onto the stool and pulled the tome off the shelf grunting as he didn’t expect it to be quite so heavy. “Its heavy,” she informed but it was after the fact.

“Thanks for the warning,” he replied playfully stepping off the stool. “Where?”

Khrys giggled softly. “Table,” she pointed and hurried over ahead of him to make sure it was clear.

When he set it down he stepped back letting her brush the thick layer of dust off the top of the book. This tome had been collected years ago in the extreme northern shore of Seheron by some Tal’Vashoth mercenaries Bull recruited. The tome was big, like the books she’d come across in Mage, and Chantry libraries. It was bound by some form of dark brown leather with a triple helix pattern on the cover, that symbol was a mystery, no one in Skyhold had ever seen something like that or the writing within the tome. She opened it and began flipping through the pages, they where thick and beige and stained by time. Whatever this tome was it was ancient and from a culture no one even knew of.

“What are you looking for?” he asked looking over her shoulder; he couldn’t understand any of it anyway. Michel was a learned man, he ready countless book of varying topics and even a lot of magic related texts to understand the enemy they faced.

“Remember that rubbing Cole took from the ruin in Sea of Ash a while back?” she asked and Michel nodded, Fenris’ report was unsettling at best the Spirit nearly went nuts in that ruin and he had to admit both the Spirit going crazy and the ruin itself were rather creepy. Being in the Sea of Ash was even worse, Fenris found somewhere he hated more than Tevinter. “I could swear I’ve seen that cast somewhere.”

“Cole said that ruin was thousands of years old,” Michel offered and Khrys nodded, she was present for the briefing too but it wasn’t exactly correct, Cole had babbled a lot in that place; babbled, panicked, disappeared, reappeared, babbled more, panicked again, and continued to spout of words that Fenris couldn’t remember. The only thing Fenris took away from the whole confusing ordeal with that the ruin was older than anything else in Thedas. It was, to this day, the most unsettling report either of them had ever received from a company that had returned.

She hummed a quiet affirmation. “Yeah, and anything ancient that Solas is interested in I’m interested in.”

Michel looked down at her as she focused on the pages of the book. Over the years he understood more and more about her complicated relationship with the ancient Elf named Solas. He’d saved her life twice, fell in love with her, and then abandoned her. He was responsible for her arm and the mess that the Inquisition found itself in. He knew that there was some unfinished business between them but he’d kill the mage if he touched her again. “Well, I’m not good at research but is there anything I can do to help?” he offered and she smiled looking up at him.

“Keep me company?” she asked and a small smile spread across his face. He was more than willing to do that, he didn’t care if he was watching her write out a dispatch or comb through tedious research it didn’t matter but he’d draw the line at a magical ritual. He wanted to spend every minute with her.

**

Michel’s helping turned into Michel sitting in a chair twirling a knife into the thick table top. He enjoyed reading but the books that she was slaving through were in a language he couldn’t read. He wasn’t even sure what language it was. He’d learned a passable amount of Elven but he could read and write Orlesian and common. While she looked through the book for something that was familiar to her they chatted about things he’d found, new and unnerving conversations with Cole, and other intriguing small talk.

“So, what is your opinion on all this attention Bree is getting?” he asked as she was about halfway through the giant tome. Dorian’s reaction was predictable, but Khrys seemed on the fence about it. Despite what he’d told Dorian earlier he was very concerned for her safety, any man who would have her had to go through several people for approval and he was one of them.

She paused in her reading and glanced at him leaning back in his chair. Her daughter would marry who she wanted by her choice, like Dorian she would never allow her to be used as a pawn no matter who asked. “I think it’s her choice but…Dorian’s right, she’s too young. She shouldn’t have to think about that right now.”

Michel studied her looking for any indication of what she was thinking; he wasn’t sure what effect this would have on her. He knew she had been bonded once, a long time ago, while living with her clan in the Free Marches. A casual conversation between them that told him she was uncomfortable with the idea of bonding or marriage. He still thought asking her though, every day, but didn’t knowing her opinion on the subject. Her husband, Lathan, killed himself a few months after she miscarried. “Are you okay?” he asked actually proud of the fact that he’d gotten better at reading her moods and when something was wrong.

She didn’t have to really think about that answer as she didn’t share the sheer panic that Dorian experienced, she trusted Bree was a smart girl and this was a small thing to lose it over. There would be far worse things down the line so she took it all in stride. “Yeah,” she answered with a confident smile. “Yeah, I’m perfect…or I will be when I find what I’m looking for.”

Michel wasn’t sure if he believed her but after nine years he’d figured out how to handle Khrys. Pushing her to talk about anything usually ended in disaster and she’d eventually talk in time. For now he let it go and went back to watching her flip through the pages trying to find what she was looking for.

“Khrys!” Dorian’s voice echoed off the stone walls making Michel rotate in his chair at his tone.

“He bellows,” Michel said dryly and Khrys chuckled at him.

Khrys’ smile made him smile. “He’s hard to miss isn’t he?” she giggled and he chuckled louder.

“Khrys!” Dorian called again scurrying toward them like a man on a mission.

“What?” she asked and he up held the letters.

“Oh, I don’t know, just a letter from the Prince of Starkhaven, congratulating us on the potential union between Gabriella and Duncan. A marriage he’d happily support rather than one from Orlais.” Dorian stated. “Paraphrasing of course, he is rather wordy sometimes.”

Khrys stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “Orlais? Where’d he get that?” she asked seeing Michel’s expression change too and Dorian slipped into his flamboyant irritating behavior.

“Ahh…well, listen to this. Lord Dorian Pavus, blah blah blah blah, given our long standing alliances blah blah blah blah, I see there is an opportunity to strengthen our ties if you would consent to a union between your daughter and my son,” he skimmed as Khrys dropped what she was doing and snatched the letter from him. “I realize there are others asking for your daughter’s hand and blah blah blah, Emperor Gaspard De Chalons, Empire of Orlais.”

“What?” she snapped, reading the letter quickly.

“Why would he offer Jean-Fredric she’s a mage?” Michel asked sitting up and paying attention to this, for Gaspard to offer his son, the heir to Orlais, to a girl that was not only a mage but an elf-blooded one at that was shocking to say the least.

“Yes, thank you for the commentary, Ser Michel. Why is he here?” Dorian hissed.

Michel stood holding his glare. “Do not test me, Mage.” Michel warned.

Khrys grumbled to their constant bickering. “Gentlemen.” She said in a warning tone of her own then looked to Dorian. “How did he hear about this? How did Sebastian?”

Dorian looked away from Michel still giving him a threatening glare, as much as he bickered with the Chevalier he didn’t want to cross him, no given his reputation as the man who bested Gaspard in single combat so he turned his attention from him to Khrys. “Alistair apparently has some ‘loose lipped’ servants,” Dorian hissed. “Besides Lydia, Alistair, and I the servants were the only ones present.”

Now Michel was a little more worried about Bree being courted by not one but two Princes and the one that worried him the most of Jean-Fredric, Gaspard’s only son. He didn’t wish the great game on Bree, not ever, and he’d do anything to protect her from harm. “Again, why would he offer his only son to someone who can’t bring him anything?”

This time Dorian ignored him. “The gall of that Orlesian bastard to try and use my daughter for political gain,” Dorian continued, “and to send in a bloody letter, he wanted your hand in marriage after the Exalted Council to strengthen Orlais. He’s never gotten over you saying no.”

“I didn’t say no, his Council did,” she replied quickly and Michel’s brow furrowed looking to Dorian then to Khrys.

“Oh, really,” Dorian questioned, the aggravation on his face leaving momentarily changing to humor.

Khrys blinked at how that sounded and flustered a little. “I mean…ummm…I would have but his Council beat me to it,” Dorian cocked his head at her comments; he was there when he publicly asked to marry the Inquisitor much to the absolute shock and dismay of his Council and Court. For the Emperor of Orlais to ask to marry an Elf was monumental news. Though Gaspard did have a soft spot for her, Khrys saw nothing but problems with a marriage like that. Orlais would lose its mind and Gaspard wouldn’t remain Emperor for very long. She didn’t want to marry him anyway but the idea was nice to think about.

“If Gaspard thinks I’ll let my daughter marry his son he’s out of his mind, I’m still not keen on the idea of her marrying Duncan either,” he stated firmly. “And just think, in a few months they’ll all be here for a Council meeting…this’ll be one I don’t intend to skip.”

Khrys raised her hand to calm him. “Relax. I don’t need you tearing the Council apart just because two of the members asked to marry our daughter. I’ll let Josephine have these and she can decide the best course of action to take that won’t risk alliances.”

Dorian scoffed loudly. “You’re worried about alliances? You sound like Gaspard.”

Khrys’ expression hardened toward him. “Dorian, you need to relax. This is how it’s done.”

Dorian bristled at her telling him how noble marriages were arranged. “Don’t tell me how this is done, Khrystabel,” he snapped harshly. “I lived it. You didn’t. Dalish clans don’t arrange bonding’s like Tevinter, you were the lucky ones, your bonding was easy.”

“That’s enough, Dorian,” Michel warned his hard glare still trained on him, the discussion that seemed to be descending into an argument.

Dorian’s temper started to rise; he was done talking about this and annoyed beyond belief. “You, stay out of this,” he snapped then turned his attention back to Khrys. “You may be laid back about this but I know what lies ahead. People squabbling over her, pressuring her, making decisions for her, treating her like a commodity rather than a person, I won’t let that happen and if I have to deny every request an lock her in the tower until she’s forty, I will,” he hadn’t spoken like this to Khrys in a very long time, he wasn’t particularly proud of it but he was tired of this. Receiving both letters once again put his protective father side on high alert.

“Do not speak to her like that,” Michel growled stepping closer to Dorian to make his displeasure crystal clear. “my final warning.”

Dorian realized he was dangerously close to crossing a line if he didn’t curb his runaway temper. He was so aggravated and annoyed about all this he was close to making this situation worse. He wasn’t wrong and he knew that. He grumbled keeping the words he was thinking to himself as he put the remaining letter on the table with a healthy amount of irritation before leaving the Vault growling to himself. It was not his intention to snap at her but he was irritated, her calm was a source of irritation for him in the past and also something he liked about her. Right now he hated it; she was too calm about this.

Michel’s glower followed him as he left, he couldn’t blame him for being scared but he didn’t need to be an ass about all this. Khrys waived Michel’s concerned expression away as she brushed off Dorian’s attitude and picked up the letter from Sebastian reading it quickly.

**

Khrys was frustrated by the time she was done looking through the giant tome. She didn’t find what she was looking for in there but she knew she’d seen that rubbing somewhere before. There were more tomes and books down there that she would sift through later. Cole was forward thinking when he took that and according to Fenris the only thing he said was ‘it’s important’. Cryptic as usual but he was a spirit. There were more books she had to go through, she’d seen that cast somewhere…she knew it, now all she needed to do was find it.

“Hi, Josie,” she greeted closing the thick door behind her and walked down to the ambassador.

“Ahh, Inquisitor, good day to you,” the Antivan greeted with a smile. “Everything is in order for Gabriella’s birthday next month,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to move the Council meeting to another day?”

Khrys nodded; there was no reason to ask those attending both the meeting and the part to come to Skyhold twice. Holding it at Bree’s birthday celebration consolidated time and there was no reason they couldn’t steal away thirty minutes for a meeting. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” she assured and offered Josie the letters. “There’s a situation developing that I think you need to handle before it kills Dorian.”

Josie snorted and took the papers that were being handed to her. She skimmed them and blinked clearing her throat before looking back to the Inquisitor. “Oh…,” she said surprised, “so if this is Gaspard also sending an offer than am I to assume King Alistair suggested Prince Duncan?”

Khrys nodded. “That’s what Dorian said. Apparently word got out to both Sebastian and Gaspard,” she sighed. “Of course he’s turned into a frantic humming bird now.”

Josie laughed. “I understand,” she said with a smile. “There are sure to be more to come, I’ll handle them as they come in. With your permission I can also arrange negotiations with both Royal families.”

Khrys shook her head quickly. “No. No. No. If you think Dorian is crazy now…”

Josie giggled a little; he was protective, very protective. “I see,” she said smiling and nodded at the Inquisitor. “Very well, I will handle these as they come in and inform you of anything you should know.”

Khrys was content with that, if anyone could contain this before it got out of control or Dorian lost his damn mind, it was Josie. Now she was back on her quest to figure out just where she’d seen that cast.

**

Michel had taken several books from the vault up to their bedroom so Khrys didn’t have to stay in the cold Vault for so long. She smiled to his behavior as she always did; Michel had a kind and gentleness to him but when he was forced to fight he decimated all. The change of venue did nothing to stem her frustration though. She had ancient Dwarven books, Elven books, and even some Tevinter ones, all had been taken from ruins in far flung corners of Thedas and the Abyssal Rift. Not many of her teams ventured to the Rift, it was dangerous, poisoned by the Blight leaving only the crumbling ruins as signs of ancient civilizations. Fenris and Cole had ventured out there twice, the second time with Morrigan and even for that heavy team the Sea of Ash and what lay beyond was unnerving, like walking through a graveyard or burial ground…you just knew it was somewhere you shouldn’t be.

Frustrated with the oldest Elven book she had on hand she dropped it on the floor next to the couch with the two that came before it. Helping her look through the books was Bree. The girl did like to study, she liked books; a trait she got from Dorian who was more than happy to nurture it.

Bree sat at the desk and looked up from her Tevinter book furrowing her brow. “Mama, what exactly is this cast?” she asked her mother who had her feet curled under her on the couch.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly and sounded as frustrated as possible. “I’ve seen it somewhere in a book I just can’t remember which one.”

They both heard footsteps trotting up the steps as Bree went back to her book. That was her father’s gait not Michel. She smiled when her father emerged from the stairs. “Hi, Daddy,” she smiled brightly as Dorian looked from her to Khrys then back again.

“The library not homey enough for you, my dear?” he asked Bree as he crossed the room to the desk lifting the spine of the book she held so he could see the title.

“I was helping Mama,” she answered and Dorian cringed a little at the title of the book.

“The Lesser Known Imperium?” he read from the cover before releasing the book, his tone full of distain. “That’s a dry read.”

Bree giggled and Khrys said nothing but shook her head. Dorian knew she was still not happy about his words in the Vault hence the silent treatment so far.

“Trying to find that mystery drawing Cole took in the Abyssal Ruin,” Khrys said plainly, now her tone told him that she wasn’t pleased with his behavior.

“Well, I could have told you it wasn’t in there,” he replied cringing again at the fact his daughter was sifting through it. “I’ve read it, twice, unfortunately. Nothing in there but ‘facts’ dryer than the parchment it’s written on.”

“You could stay and help, Lord Pavus,” Khrys replied and Dorian raised his eyebrows, her tone had some venom to it and she called him ‘Lord Pavus’ which was never a good sign.

Dorian turned to his daughter who wasn’t stupid; she knew what normal behavior was between them and also knew when they were fighting. “Bree, would you excuse us please?”

Bree closed the book leaving it on the desk and trotted down the stairs. Dorian gave her a few moments before standing before Khrys lacing his hand behind his back. “Khrys, I want to apologize,” he began and she spared a few glances up at him. “I didn’t mean to be rude earlier. It wasn’t fair to you and it was beneath me to behave like that,” he said and got tired of standing. He pushed the book at her feet further down the couch and sat down sitting up straight and looking at her as she was still eyeing the book. If she was ignoring him she had every right to. He was an ass earlier. “I know what happened with your clan and Lathan all those years go and I would never purposely imply that any of that was easy.” Khrys looked directly at him over the top of the book slowly lowering it down so he could see her face. “I’m sorry, Khrystabel, I was out of line and being an ass.”

Khrys giggled slightly at him calling himself an ass. “Yeah, you were,” she agreed and the mage stiffened at her feet. “You wouldn’t be a Magister if you weren’t an ass on some level,” she said and her eyes went back to the book.

Dorian’s expression narrowed to a glare, she was teasing him and he knew it. That was her teasing tone when she was still mad at him but not mad enough to kick his ass, mad enough to insult him playfully though. He watched her prop the book on her hip, reach down and casually fling another one from the pile at him.

“As long as you’re feeling apologetic help me out,” she said as he caught the book casually flying at him and read the spine.

“Dwarven?” he asked and she could hear the disgust in his voice. Dwarven was not his best language and their history was an even drier read than the book that Bree was working through. Nevertheless, he scooted back on the couch and sighed. “Alright…” he huffed, “what am I looking for?”


	4. Duncan

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Four: Duncan

 

Duncan enjoyed the long rides; he loved to be anywhere but the damned castle and Denerim. He liked the country, the mountains, cities felt too claustrophobic for him. He envied people who chose a life devoted to an order; the Templars, the Wardens, the Seekers, and the Inquisition. He knew he’d never be able to join any of them. Miracle Child they called him, the only child born to two Wardens. It aggravated him more than anything else, he understood his life would never be normal, even normal for a Prince but he dealt with it. There was nothing he could do about it.

He wasn’t thrilled about traveling the entire breadth of Fereldan just to attend a damn birthday party. He hated ships, they made him sea sick, and unfortunately most of the trip from Denerim was by ship ending in West Hill. He practically kissed the dock when he got to it. Long trips gave him a lot of time to work with Raider, the horse he had prior to Raider was Shake, an enormous bay Forder that was the definition of safe and solid. He’d been riding Shake since he was five and Shake was ten, and a year ago he lost the old gelding to colic. Raider was very different from Shake, instead of being a tried and tested finished Officer’s horse, Raider was young and spirited. Raider did better than he did on the boat ride; Duncan was green half the time, Raider just kept eating and nitpicking with his neighbor.

It didn’t take too long riding from the Hinterlands to Skyhold. The road was well beaten; the Inquisition hid it well during the War but now the road to Skyhold was hard to hide. A contingent of Inquisition soldiers from the Grand Villa met them on the road and proceeded to escort the royal family to Skyhold. That effectively doubled their guard for the rest of the trip.

So far Raider had only given him one fit that was quickly quelled by his rider, Alistair beamed with pride as he watched his patient son gently but firmly correct the young horse and rejoin the group. Happy with the long ride but bored beyond belief with the company Duncan rode ahead with the Inquisition scout named Sela. She was pretty and in her mid-twenties and Alistair snorted.

“Dumped for a pretty face,” Alistair chuckled looking at Lydia.

“He does know we’re trying to marry him off, correct?” she asked and he chuckled remembering the look on his son’s face when he brought up the topic of marriage to the Inquisitor’s daughter.

“Oh yes, yes, he knows. Not sure if he’s happy about it or plotting our destruction,” Alistair replied.

Lydia giggled and Alistair couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her long red hair was braided tightly and hung down to the middle of her back. As beautiful as she looked in gowns or nothing at all he loved her in her battlemage Warden armor. For an aging Warden on the cusp of the Calling, Lydia was still as stunningly beautiful as the day he’d met her in Ostegar. She laughed at his silly jokes and his childish antics but she never called him a fool. She was sweet to him and kind and he fell in love with her for it. He had to look down at her from his perch on his tall bay Charger, her horse was considerably smaller and lighter built, typical for a Talisen Strider. The little red horse was named Tinder; Alistair had given her to Lydia as an anniversary present a few years ago. His wife appreciated a spirited mount and you couldn’t get more spirit in a horse than the ones Antiva bred. The mare was lightly armored with Lydia’s staff secured under her right leg. Normally, her sword was on her belt but for a long ride it was secured to a shoulder scabbard on the left. Alistair loved his wife and the amount of weapons she carried, as the Queen of Fereldan and the Warden-Commander of Fereldan she’d better be armed.

“Pending marital status aside, I think he’ll forgive us once he sees Skyhold. He’s been prattling on about it years,” she said and looked over at him when he didn’t respond. Alistair still didn’t have that regal look about him. He’d never really wanted the throne but it was hard to say no when she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him on it. Yes, it was true; his wife scared the hell out of him some times and he was perfectly okay with that. Alistair had traded his brother’s golden armor for a new set made by Denerim’s finest smith, Wade. Dragonbone and Onyx with a Griffon design on the chest, it was commissioned by Lydia so Wade and Herran were stumbling over each other to oblige. “Alistair?” she questioned as she found him just looking at her. “Alistair?!” she barked in a higher tone and he snapped out of his daydreaming.

“What?” he asked sharply, like she startled the hell out of him. At that moment Mabari stumbled creating a laughable moment. “Ooof!” he grunted. “Bloody oaf.”

Lydia laughed loudly, the horse named Mabari was the epitome of Alistair’s whimsical humor. He was a big, solid dark bay with the trademark no white like all Amaranthine Chargers. He had a mind of his own; if you weren’t paying attention you’d be in the middle of the woods and totally lost. He was goofy and a bit of clown, but as soon as that big oaf heard Alistair’s sword clear that scabbard he was all business.

Duncan peered over his shoulder to the commotion and shook his head pushing Raider to keep up with the scout and her tri-colored tobiano mare. “Are we there yet?” he asked and Sela chuckled.

“Don’t like your parents, Highness?” she asked and Duncan scoffed for two reasons.

“First, please don’t call me that,” he said, “Duncan’s fine. Second, I like them fine but being drug all the way out here for a birthday seems a bit over the top,” he finished, the only saving grace for him in all this was the fact that he would _finally_ get to see Skyhold. Meet the Inquisitor and Commander Cullen. Briony indulged him to a point in Denerim but she had work to do so he left her to it. Dorian’s invitation left him bouncing in his seat though he hid his excitement well. “What’s it like?” he asked trying to keep Raider from wandering off the path. “Serving the Inquisition?”

Sela had but one answer. “Never a dull moment,” she replied with a snorty chuckle. “I was only a kid when that monster Corypheus tried to destroy the world but there’s always something to do, Highness.”

Duncan glared at the sky, why people couldn’t just call him Duncan like he asked always infuriated him. “Like escorting royals around?” he smirked and Sela chuckled.

“Not just royal,” she stated holding up a finger, “a few months ago I got the esteemed pleasure of escorting Magister Pavus around the Hinterlands. That man will talk your ear off if you show even a smattering of intelligence.”

Duncan chuckled; he liked Dorian, so far anyway. “I like Dorian, he’s nice…invited me here to show me the inquisition,” he replied.

Sela shrugged, she got along well with Dorian too but sometimes he just talked too much. “I suppose. I like his daughter better, Bree is so much fun.”

Ahead on the trail there was another Inquisition agent who shouted her name loud enough she could hear it on the wind. She excused herself from Duncan’s presence, again, addressing his as that Maker awful word ‘Highness’ and cantered away.

 _Bree?_ That was the name of the girl his parents wanted him to marry…Dorian’s daughter. “Oh, goody, this’ll be fun,” he muttered to himself in as sarcastic a tone as possible as he tightened up on Raider’s rein to keep him from cantering after Sela. The Courser pranced and danced discussing Duncan’s decision to remain at a walk. Before long his parents caught up with him and Duncan found himself riding on his father’s left putting Alistair in the middle.

“Something you said?” Alistair prodded in a gleeful needling tone.

Duncan snorted. “No.” he replied. “Not at all…I’m just wondering how well this whole marriage proposal to Dorian’s daughter thing will go.”

Alistair chuckled. “He already knows so you don’t have to worry about that, Son.”

That wasn’t a comfort. Not one bit. “You realize he probably wants to kill me, right?” he asked and it was his mother’s turn to laugh.

“Nonsense,” she assured. “If Dorian’s going to kill anyone it’ll be your father, it was his idea.”

Duncan sighed with amusement as Alistair glowered playfully at his love. “Perfect,” Duncan announced with a satisfied tone and clapped his father’s right shoulder. “I have my shield…thank you, Father.”

Alistair grumbled looking from his wife to his son, they were both laughing at him. “Oh, I hate this,” he whined. “I hate it when you two gang up on me.”

His tone wasn’t angry, it was playful exasperation, and it was all in good fun. He may have had a son but he did feel outnumbered when it came to the both of them ganging up on him. They did it often, conniving schemers the both of them.

**

The sight of Skyhold gleaming in the sun surrounded by snow made Duncan pull Raider up and take in the sight in with an awe inspiring breath. “Wow,” he commented. “Gleaming fortress in the sky,” he said a loud and heard Sela snort.

“Welcome to Skyhold, Duncan,” she said with a smile and he could have sworn the scout was flirting with him. His teenage mind registered the tone and twinkling smile from the young woman but the fact that he was there in Skyhold, home of the Inquisition-- an order that he’d read about and dreamed about, overrode everything else.

The fortress was huge and it only got bigger the closer he drew to it. Crossing the bridge to the main gate he couldn’t help but think that this Fortress was like a strategist’s wet dream. This castle could repel a ground war for months if not years. Honestly, all they’d need to do is wait until the winter blew in and watch from the battlements as the assaulting army slowly froze to death. No one with any brains would try to attack head on, the bridge was too narrow and that was a hell of a long drop. So unless you could fly, Skyhold was untouchable.

The Inquisition soldiers were ahead of them with the royal guards in a defensible diamond formation around their Royal family, the trust between Fereldan and the Inquisition was strong but it only went so far when it came to a monarch. Alistair and Lydia could care less about themselves; it was Duncan that needed to be protected. The miracle child and heir to Fereldan, the majority of these guards were for him.

People bowed as they entered the fortress, those who were Fereldan dropped to one knee at the sight of their king while the Orlesians and the Free Marchers simply nodded respectfully.

“King Alistair, my Queen, Prince Duncan,” Thom began knowing that his presence would be enough to make this go sideways quickly. Alistair and Lydia thought of him as the lowest of the low but he did his duty as the Captain of the Guard, “welcome to Skyhold.”

Alistair glanced down at him and looked over to his wife quickly. “Captain,” he practically hissed to him but kept his diplomatic façade. He may have wanted to execute him for his misrepresentation of the Wardens but now he just let it ride. Lydia gave him his punishment and so far Thom had adhered to it…that didn’t mean he liked him.

Lydia scoffed at him, basically turning her nose up at him. _“Lying coward.”_ She thought to herself. Rather than cause a scene there in the courtyard she didn’t say anything to him.

Duncan watched the exchange. He had grown up hearing about the deeds of the ‘Warden’ named ‘Blackwall’, or rather coward named Thom Rainier who took the name of a great man to hide. Yeah…it was safe to say Duncan had at least heard of Thom. The man was stocky, burly, had long hair, and a full beard…somehow not as he could have pictured him.

“If you’ll follow me-…” Thom continued as the three of them dismounted passing their horses off to the gaggle of stable hands eagerly waiting.

Lydia wasn’t interested in what he had to say, not one word, instead she focused in on Michel. She smiled at the blonde Orlesian and ignored Thom. “Michel,” she greeted and the Orlesian champion gave her a respectful bow. “long time.”

“Warden Queen,” he replied, “it is good to see you again and you as well, Majesty,” he added referring to Alistair.

Thom closed his mouth and stifled a huff; this was his penance for disgracing their order so he dealt with it. “If you’ll follow us the Inquisitor is expecting you.”

Lydia moved ahead and only gave Thom a very chilly glare on the way by. “Rainier,” Alistair stiffly acknowledged and moved next to fall in behind his wife. “Duncan, this way.”

Calling his son to heel was a good idea; Duncan was already focused on everything else but following them or observing the still fresh animosity between his parents, namely his mother, and Rainier.

“So, _Rainier_ , still haven’t worked up the gumption to attempt the joining?” Lydia hissed, her tone very pointed in her disapproval of him. Thankfully, for Thom’s sake, Nathaniel had been at Adamant and not her or Alistair, the both of them would have killed him on the spot. Nathaniel recognized that they had bigger fish to fry and let it go.

Michel glanced over at Thom and gave him a sympathetic expression. Thom had served his penance for his lie and had remained with the Inquisition simply because Khrystabel asked him to stay and help. “I still serve the Inquisition, Warden-Commander, if that changes, I’ll let you know,” he stated but the tone of his voice was more of a hiss. “I know you’re very concerned, My _Queen_.”

Alistair visibly cringed at his pointed hiss and Duncan saw it, two things could happen here: first Lydia could brush him off with a scoff and file it under the heading of she still didn’t like him or she could hit the roof and whoop his ass right there. He knew damn well she’d whip out the worst of her Blood Magic talents to turn his ass into a toad or worse. He didn’t come to her defense here, he didn’t need to, she could handle his insolence and it was fun to watch his red headed love fume.

Lydia’s midstep pause and narrowed expression was a good indicator that she picked the former, that and possibly Khrystabel’s standing edict that nothing was to happen to Rainier. He’d complied with all her orders and had kept himself out of any Warden keep. “Please do,” she replied her tone full of sass and heated sarcasm. “I’d personally over see your Joining.”

Alistair looked at the sky stopping himself from rolling his eyes, his son had the same expression and they looked at each other. “Why us?” he asked quietly to Duncan who only shrugged and chuckled slightly, he only knew parts of this story and after that he tuned everyone out.

**

Khrys knew that Alistair _hated_ the pomp and circumstance that surrounded royalty, if he wanted to go to Skyhold to visit his friends he went and begged people not to make a huge deal about it. He didn’t like being announced, he hated Balls, Masquerades, and parties, and he really hated people falling all over him to serve him. So when it came time for him to arrive in Skyhold, Khrys had to order Josie not to have the welcome wagon there at the stables or even in the Main Hall.

Had Duncan not been so taken in by the legendary fortress he was walking through he might have actually heard what people were saying, he was an awestruck kid in a candy store. The sheer size of Skyhold was amazing, nowhere near as big as Fort Drakon but given the fact that it was probably older than Fort Drakon and stood proudly on top of a mountain somehow it seemed to measure up. The only place that would have made him happier was visiting Weisshaupt.

Skyhold’s main hall was impressive; the mishmash of décor was odd but tasteful. It reflected the taste of the Dalish Inquisitor but it was also heavily influenced by the Fereldan, Marcher, and Tevinter styles.

“Lady Inquisitor, my I present the Royal family of Fereldan, King Alistair, Queen Lydia, and Prince Duncan,” Josephine announced, it was an introduction that was merely a formality considering the Inquisitor and the King and Queen were all on a first name basis.

Hearing his name snapped Duncan’s attention to the people he’d obviously been walking toward the whole time he was turning circles and examining the Main Hall. The woman introduced as Josephine was clearly Antivan, the accent was impossible to miss; he recognized Dorian and judged the Elf standing to his right to be the infamous Inquisitor. She had hair as white as the snowcapped peaks, was tiny, and was missing most of her left arm. Just like the stories he’d heard, she looked almost exactly as he’d pictured. According to his parents, he’d met her once when he was so little he didn’t remember anything but the long white hair. Standing to her right was a girl about his age, long black hair, tanned skin, and very pretty; that must be Bree. There was a tall blonde man in lion armor standing by Josie and Duncan all most lost all level of decorum. That was Commander Cullen; he’d wanted to meet him for years.

“Alistair, how was the ride?” Khrys asked and the King scoffed giving her a respectful nod.

“Too. Damned. Long,” he grumped in a tired tone.

“Oh, come on…you’ve spent too much time sitting on the throne,” she sniped in returned making Alistair laugh.

“What can I say…you’ve all but crushed any opposition, not much more to do than ‘sit on the throne’,” he replied with a chuckle. “Khrys, you remember my son, Duncan.”

Khrys looked him up and down much the same way Dorian did in Denerim and he guessed he next words that came out of her mouth. _“Oh, Duncan, you’ve grown up!”_ he mused in his head. _“Well, no shit, Inquisitor.”_ was his mental response, unfortunately, she said exactly that but his response was much more polite. “Time has that effect,” he said and she smiled, she had a beautiful smile.

He shook Dorian’s hand and was practically presented with Bree. “Duncan, I’d like you to meet my…” Dorian began and corrected himself, “our daughter, Gabriella. Bree, this is Prince Duncan Theirin.”

Duncan still wasn’t comfortable with this but Bree’s kind smile helped put him at ease to some degree. “A pleasure, Highness,” she bowed but he got the distinct impression that she was just as uncomfortable as he was.

Duncan did what was expected of him, what he knew wasn’t going to get his ass beat by his mother and father later or kicked out of Skyhold on his ass. He took Bree’s right hand gently and kissed the back of it. Her skin was soft and delicate and she smelled wonderful, he almost wished he could do it again without his gloves on so something other than his lips could touch her skin. “The pleasure is mine, My Lady,” he replied his smile as dashing and handsome as he could muster without looking like a creep; “you are as lovely as I’ve heard.”

Bree giggled, either she saw right through him or she was genuinely blushing at the Fereldan Prince. “You just don’t know any better yet,” she replied causing Alistair and Lydia to laugh, Duncan to chuckle, and Dorian to scold.

“Gabriella,” Dorian and Khrys scolded in unison. “Manners, young lady,” Dorian added.

Duncan waved it off; he wasn’t offended he was actually relieved. He hated prissy noble girls; he liked girls who had guts and a backbone. So far they were off to a good start, she was very pretty and by the sound of it had a sense of humor. “No I like it…I like it when people speak their mind.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Khrys muttered, if there was one thing that Bree did besides panicking the boys with her harebrained horseback stunts it was speaking her mind. Neither Khrys nor Dorian ever tried to curb it so what they had was a very intelligent, outspoken, Daddy’s little girl. She knew the rules of course. When mom and dad spoke, she listened and obeyed. When confronted with royalty, don’t say anything to get thrown out on your ass, and if you did, dear Maker make sure it was worthy of storytelling at the tavern later.

“We’ll show you to your chambers and then a feast has been prepared in your honor,” Khrys said chuckling at the way Bree and Duncan were looking at each other. No joke. It was a critical, if not bemused eye, as if they were trying to figure the other out.

The Theirins’ attention snapped back to her at the promise of food. “Feast? I’m starving,” the three of them said at once and Khrys laughed.

“Good call, Cullen,” she chuckled. “Three Grey Warden appetites: check.”

Cullen allowed a smile at the praise from her, he’d been around Wardens long enough to know that three of them arriving after a long trip meant they were about eat the Inquisitor out of house and home.

**

Skyhold had plenty of rooms to accommodate the guests that were slated to arrive; however, it was bound to get a bit crowded. His parents were given a large room that was cozy and warm. The staff did a fantastic job of making their chambers worthy of royalty. Alistair and Lydia were content with them, smaller than theirs at the palace but that was something they didn’t care about. Duncan was shown to his chamber, a little further down the hall from them. It was the same as his parents’, small, clean, warm, and cozy. The hearth was lit and he turned a circle in the middle of the room looking around.

He didn’t want to just hang around in here and rest, he wanted to see more of Skyhold, but right now he’d settle for food. The mere mention of food made his stomach growl; both his parents were Grey Wardens and had a massive metabolism. He wasn’t quite sure what he was, he wasn’t a Warden but he did have Warden blood and had the same ravenous appetite that they did.

The kitchen staff out did themselves; there was a massive amount of food that took nearly two days to prepare. It was all for the royal family, but it was a good time to sit down and just enjoy the company of allies. This was just the first of many feasts that would take place over the next few days and Khrys grumbled at that. At least this one was smaller and didn’t require anyone to move heaven and Earth to pull it off. The head cook was going to be grouchy for a long time after this.

Duncan sat at the heavy wooden table next to his mother and across from Bree. He was still trying to figure her out. She was pretty and well-mannered but if he was supposed to marry her he wanted to know way more than that about her.

He observed the table; there was his father on the end, his mother next to him, and Michel to his left. Michel de Chevin, the Chevalier’s reputation preceded him, he was an amazing swordsman that Duncan would love to learn from. Across from them was Dorian, Khrys, and Bree. Next to Bree was Cullen, he really wanted to actually talk to that man, next to him was a pale redhead who didn’t look too content with the idea of food. There was another man, an Elf with white hair and strange looking vallaslin, he’d met him a few years back in Denerim with Captain Briony. He recognized him as Fenris, the Inquisition’s Lyrium Warrior and the only person besides Cullen, Michel, and Khrys he wanted to talk to more.

Between the three of them, himself, Lyida, and Alistair, they put away a chicken each, a few loaves of bread, and lots of potatoes. It was a typical appetite for a Grey Warden, the Royal Palace was used to feeding three Wardens the same amount of food you’d feed an army.

**

After dinner Alistair and Lydia sat causally on the couch in Khrys’ chambers as Dorian handed them both a goblet of wine, a little drink to end the evening and relax among friends without the children.

“I wonder if you know just how much of a headache you’ve caused me?” Dorian grumped, referring to Alistair who just knitted his brow.

“Pardon?” Alistair asked as he sipped the wine.

In response to that Dorian crossed the room to Khrys’ desk to retrieve a bunch of letters. “Here’s where he gets dramatic,” Khrys droned and earned a look from Dorian as he walked back and handed them to Alistair.

“ _These_. This is all your fault, your Majesty,” he accused and Alistair skimmed the one from Sebastian and raised his eyebrows passing it to Lydia.

“How…?” he began and began to skim the next one. “How in Andraste’s ass did the Prince of Starkhaven and Emperor Gaspard find out about this so quickly?”

“Well, someone in Denerim has good ears and some very loose lips…which pair, well, I’ll leave that to you to decide,” Dorian stated and heard Khrys scoff at his sexual innuendo and saw Lydia laugh.

“Oh, I do like him, Inquisitor.” Lydia giggled. “Can I keep him?”

Alistair looked at his wife and blinked, was she flirting with him? “Easy,” Alistair warned with a slight chuckle.

Dorian smirked and was delighted to flirt with the Queen, Alistair knew he was harmless given his sexual preference but the fact that he had a child with Khrys gave him pause. “I am yours to command, Majesty,” he flirted with the redheaded blood mage.

Now it was Khrys’ turn as she sipped the goblet of wine. “Hey, now, you’re my toy, Pavus,” she flirted and Dorian continued to smirk.

Alistair was more than happy to let Khrys keep her Magister. “Yes, please, Lydia, I, your husband, am still right here,” Alistair reminded and Lydia just chuckled.

Their attention was drawn to the stairs as Michel crested the top and observed the situation. “Michel,” Khrys smiled and beckoned for him to join them. “Come join us.”

Michel was fairly certain he didn’t want to and he observed the room with a sigh. The only mage in the room he trusted was Khrys, Lydia the Blood Mage but as of now he was on good terms with her, and Dorian was just Dorian. His relationship with him was hit or miss, Alistair he really had no opinion of, but the King had done nothing to him to make him wary.

“Yes, Ser Michel, please join us, we were just pointing fingers as to whose fault it is that everyone wants my daughters hand in marriage,” Dorian announced and Khrys shook her head with a smile.

Michel poured himself a glass of wine and sniffed it. Tevinter wine it wasn’t bad, though Michel preferred Orlesian wine but one of Dorian’s redeeming qualities was the access to good wine.

“It was one letter,” Alistair defended. “From Orlais…Sebastian has daughters for crying out loud.”

“And yet, still your fault,” Dorian sniped back as Michel only shook his head staying as near to Khrys as possible.

“In his defense, there are more on Josie’s desk,” Khrys added and Alistair sighed, he couldn’t help any of it and shrugged innocently with a sigh.

“What can I say-…” Alistair began and Dorian helped him finish.

“Uhh… ‘it’s my fault’?” Dorian helped and Lydia chuckled loudly.

Michel snorted loudly. “Ahh the Tevinter talent of overreacting, you do know that this is not the end of the world,” he said dryly and finished off his first glass of wine.

Dorian turned to Michel with his typical smirk. “You’re one to talk, your country has started wars over dropping the wrong spoon.” he countered and Khrys swore she saw the Orlesian smile at the banter.

Well, he wasn’t wrong there but Michel simply shrugged. “Depends on the spoon,” he replied replied causing Dorian to snort.

“The War of the Lions began over a fucking feather, Michel,” he pressed as the former topic was practically forgotten. “But of course, that’s not _overreacting_ at all. No, of course not.”

Khrys cleared her throat. That really didn’t take long to descend into a fundamental disagreement on just about everything. “Boys, corners please.”

Lydia was grinning at the exchange and looked at Khrys. “Tell me you get a crack at both of them?” she asked with a broad grin and heard Alistair snort his wine.

“Lydia…”

Khrys laughed and looked from Dorian to Michel and then to Lydia. “On occasion,” she said smugly and snickered as both Michel and Dorian glared at one another before Dorian looked away from him. When had this conversation spiraled to the gutter?

**

Ditching his escort seemed like a good idea at the time, despite the long journey he wasn’t tired and the ‘adults’ had vanished to drink and BS the night away. Duncan didn’t want to sleep, there was no way he could, not here, he’d always wanted to see Skyhold –the Inquisition. He’d been promised a tour and a one on one with Khrys in the morning but he couldn’t wait. He wanted to see Skyhold now. So ditching his escort was a good idea until Skyhold’s halls got him so turned around that he was officially lost.

“Damnit,” he cursed softly as he opened another door and found more unfamiliar terrain.

“Lost?” he heard a woman say from behind him and turned quickly. It was Bree; he looked her up and down noticing that she was still in the blue dress she’d worn to dinner. Her long black hair hung loose off her shoulders and draped down to the middle of her back. His throat went dry as he tried to swallow. Well, at least the rumors were true, she was pretty and she had a lovely voice. The descriptions he’d heard were pretty much correct, she looked like Dorian, inheriting more Tevinter characteristics than Elven ones, but was as small as her mother.

“Uhh…yeah,” he answered sounding a little sheepish about that as she walked toward him. “I was doing alright for a while there but I think, and I can’t be sure, I took a wrong door somewhere,” he said and his humorous tone made her chuckle.

“Didn’t my mom assign you an escort?” she asked in an almost lecturing tone.

Duncan sighed nodding. “She did,” he replied and she giggled at his sheepish tone.

“Ditched him huh?” she said with a laugh.

He nodded sharply. “Yep,” he admitted and sighed. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Her smile was lovely and so was her laugh, she had a small frame like an Elf and came to his chin.

“Alright, come on, My Prince,” she giggled.

“Please don’t call me that,” he begged falling into step with her. “Duncan is all anyone needs to call me.”

Bree looked over at him as they walked, so far her favorite feature on him was his shaggy long dark hair. He had a nice smile too. She liked the fact that his head wasn’t in the clouds simply because he was the heir to an entire kingdom. He was grounded and didn’t like the pomp and circumstance, just like his father. “Very well, Duncan,” she smiled. “So how do you like Skyhold so far?”

“Oh I love it,” he said sounding like he could barely contain it. “I’ve read everything on the Inquisition, old and new. Inquisitor Ameridan…Inquisitor Lavellan-…” he went one but stopped himself hearing how silly he must have sounded. “I’m sorry.”

She chuckled and waved him off. “No, no, go on. I think it’s cute,” she smiled and saw him turning bright red, blushing or embarrassed.

Truthfully it was a little of both. “Umm…is it true that you have the armor of Inquisitor Ameridan here?”

Bree nodded. “Yep, as I’m told my Mom brought it back after finding him and talking to him in the Basin.”

Duncan’s head spun. “I…I can’t imagine that…she actually spoke to Inquisitor Ameridan, the man who started the Inquisition and the Seekers. The Templar Order was created because of him…it’s amazing,” he babbled on and then stopped himself again. “Listen to me…I’m sorry, My Lady.”

Bree waved him off again. “Bree,” she corrected. “Call me Bree and it’s okay,” she assured, leading him back out into the main hall. “You want to see something?”

Duncan knew enough to know that was a loaded question and it was better to ask first. “That depends on what it is,” he replied cautiously and she chuckled.

“Come on, Duncan, I don’t bite,” she replied, her smile mischievous. “Besides, I think you’ll love this.”

Duncan followed her feeling his heartrate increase seeing her mischievous smile; he really liked that and wondered where she was taking him. He followed her through the Main Hall, through another door…and another and down a long hallway to a big set of double doors. Through the door was a large room and he blinked recognizing the infamous Inquisition War Table.

“Maker,” he breathed. “This is the War Table.”

She smiled as he moved tentatively toward the huge table. “Yeah…I thought you might like this.”

Duncan saw the pieces on the map, from Fereldan to Tevinter. This was a military board showing the Inquisitions strength and strategy and got the distinct feeling that he shouldn’t be viewing this. “The Inquisition War Table…wow.”

“Lady Bree,” a voice interrupted the silence as she let Duncan stare in awe at the table.

Bree turned sharply recognizing the voice instantly, Cullen. “Cullen,” she began and got the impression that she might be in trouble for this.

“You should not be in here and you know that,” Cullen scolded his tone even but stern and he shifted his eyes to Duncan. “Highness,” he acknowledged and bowed his head to his future sovereign. “I apologize but the War Table is off limits to everyone but the senior agents.”

Duncan moved away from the table and looked at her then to Cullen. “Don’t blame her, Commander, I asked,” he said and Bree cocked her head at him, he was covering for her. “I’ve actually wanted to speak to you for a very long time, Commander.”

Cullen’s stance remained even as he looked at the Prince. “Me?” he questioned without thinking. “Why?”

Cullen was always so modest, Bree had heard her parents and several others comment on that on multiple occasions. “You’re Commander Cullen, General of the Inquisition. I’ve read everything about your exploits. What happened at Haven, despite the loss, it was a victory because your tactics saved so many. Your victory at Adamant and in the Wilds all against a superior force or a fortified position…I’ve read all about them,” he said and tried not to make it sound too much like hero worship. “One of my fathers’ Generals calls you the most brilliant strategist he’s ever seen.”

Cullen looked down. “I was just the luckiest, Highness,” he said being as modest as he could.

“Don’t be so modest, Commander,” Duncan said with a smile. “I’ve heard the Inquisition wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“Thank you for your praise, Sire, and excuse me for this but I must insist you not be in here,” he said not really relishing the idea of booting the future ruler of Ferelden out of the War Room but it was his duty.

“Of course, Commander,” Duncan wasn’t offended and complied with the Commander gesturing for Bree to walk ahead of him. “Ladies first.”

Cullen’s expression was enough to tell her that she was probably going to get scolded by her mother for this. She walked with Duncan back to his room making sure he didn’t get lost on the way there. Duncan was amazed that she knew her way around like the back of her hand but then again she’d probably be just as lost running around Fort Drakon as he was trying to navigate Skyhold.

“I really hope you didn’t get into trouble because of me,” Duncan asked worriedly as they made their way down the corridor to his assigned quarters. Bree knew the room; it belonged to her friend Malcolm, although he wasn’t in Skyhold right now.

Bree shrugged like it was nothing. “Mom or Dad will probably talk to me about it in the morning but it’s on the lower end of the things I usually get in trouble for around here.”

Duncan snorted to her and offered a smile. “Well, regardless, I do apologize,” Bree smiled and looked up at him as they reached the door to the room. “This seems backwards, I should be walking you to your chambers.”

Bree shook her head with a chuckle. “You’d get lost on the way back,” she sniped and he laughed out loud nodding to her.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he admitted. “Good night, My Lady, thank you for the company.”

She smiled as he respectfully bowed to her and she simply smiled as he disappeared into the room for the evening. The door closed and he leaned back on it. Okay, he admitted, his father was right, he did like her. He went to sleep that night thinking of her but not in a sexual way. So far she was very pleasant, funny and sweet. She certainly wasn’t like the other noble girls he’d met; she actually seemed to have a backbone.

**

The next morning he was rousted out of bed with a loud knocking at the heavy wooden door. By the light coming through the window he deemed it was early. He shook his head to wake up and made his way to the door making sure his clothes were presentable before he opened up. He expected it to be his Mom or even his Dad so when he opened it up and found Bree there he was, needless to say, a little surprised. “Bree…umm?” he stammered and looked her up and down. Her hair was tightly braided and she had on tight dark brown pants, tall black boots, black gloves, and tan tunic.

“Good morning,” she greeted brightly. “I know it’s early but I was wondering if you wanted to come for a ride.”

Duncan blinked; mornings were for sleeping and therefore were not his friend. “Uhh…yeah, yeah…just let me get dressed,” he said and held up a finger. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The door closed and Bree leaned on the stone wall overlooking the courtyard letting the Royal guard stand there in silence with her. The Inquisition allowed only a handful of guards in to satisfy royals and important people. Most were okay with the limited number of guards as the Inquisition was neutral and Skyhold was safe territory. Anyone who fucked up answered to the Inquisitor and that was generally not a good day when that happened.

Ten minutes later Duncan’s door opened and he came out dressed for riding. “Sorry,” he apologized and finished pulling on his gloves looking a little more flustered than anything else.

She giggled. “Mornings are not your friend?” she inquired and he snorted softly.

“Yeah, something like that,” he said and walked with her and it took a moment before she realized they had a tail. She turned seeing his guard following and Duncan paused as well. “Odds are he’s gonna throw a hissy fit if he can’t come along.”

Bree chuckled slightly. “That’s fine…he can come along,” Duncan snorted as he followed her down to the stables. He was surprised to learn that he could have actually found that without getting lost and scoffed that he had gotten lost the night before.

Down in the stables he got a look at Skyhold’s legendary horses, there was an impressive mix of breeds and even a Hart. He saw mostly Forders and Coursers. There was a grey Courser in the stall next to Raider, same build but considerably lighter in color. Older. Raider had a dark silver dapple look to him with black mane and tail and black points. The horse next to him was the common light grey dapple with an impressive build.

“He’s impressive,” Duncan commented pausing to rub the stallion’s nose.

“That’s Dragon,” Bree replied. “Thom’s horse.”

Duncan gave a half smile as he patted his forehead. “He has good taste in horses. Coursers are amazing mounts,” he said and moved over to his horse getting Raider’s attention.

“So, what’s his name?” she asked letting the grey lick her hand.

“Raider,” he answered as Raider sniffed her and then ignored her moving over to his owner.

“He’s young.”

“Three. But he’s very smart…keeps me on my toes,” he chuckled. “Which one’s yours?” he asked and followed her as she headed further down the row of stalls. She said hello to the stableman Duncan was informed was the Horse Master and she grabbed a halter off the stall door of the thick built honey bay mare. A Green Dale or an All-Bred he guessed.

“This is Skye,” she smiled proudly slipping the halter on her and leading her out.

“Very nice,” he said and ran his hand down the mare’s neck patting her shoulder. “All-Bred?” he inquired and she nodded. “Excellent choice; All-Breds are good horses.”

Duncan finished saddling Raider first and took the time to check out the Hart. “I’ve never seen a Hart before,” he commented standing in front of the creatures’ stall as it munched on its morning hay. “They’re bigger than I thought they’d be.”

Bree smiled and stood next to him. “This is Tem. She’s my Mother’s.”

Duncan leaned on the door but the Hart ignored him until Bree clicked to her and the big red beast came to investigate. She sniffed Duncan’s hand and took a step closer curious about the new person before her. “She’s magnificent,” he said with a broad grin, he never expected Harts to be so majestic.

“She’s temperamental…they all are. They bond with their riders and will fight for them if they have to,” she explained as Duncan touched Tem’s huge antlers, after a moment Tem lost interest and moved away from him. “Shall we?”

Duncan smiled at her, she truly was a delight, and he nodded collecting the horses and heading out for their ride.

**

The trails Bree took him on were enough to make anyone afraid of heights but she knew them and Skye knew them. He just hoped that Raider wouldn’t have a hissy fit at the wrong time and send him plummeting to his death. It was an interesting ride to be honest and it was a great time for them to get to know one another. She was a mage, that was something he’d been told but wasn’t sure if it was true or not. The fact that she told him showed a degree of trust or the beginnings of it, and that flattered him.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked as they rode abreast across the bridge to the main gate. Duncan grunted an affirmation. “There’s never been a child born to two wardens, at least none that have been documented. Are you a Grey Warden?”

Duncan shook his head but also shrugged. “That’s a good question,” he replied. “I’m not sure. I have the same appetite they do, strength, and stamina…beyond that I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t been down into the Deep Roads?” she asked and he cackled loudly.

“My parents won’t let me anywhere near the Deep Roads,” he replied sarcastically and she laughed softly at his tone. Duncan had a sense of humor but that was to be expected given his father, she liked Alistair, he made her laugh.

“Your mother’s a mage, you don’t have any powers at all?” her questions weren’t meant to interrogate but to learn more about him. Duncan was a bit of a mystery to a lot of people, no one knew what a child of two Wardens was like as there had never been one. A child born to one was rare but it happened. Alistair was one of those.

He shook his head. “Much to my mother’s happiness, no. Not a mage.”

“Happiness? Your mother didn’t want you to be a mage?” she asked and Duncan looked over at her.

“My life was going to be difficult enough with unknown blood of wardens…adding magic to that would have made it even worse,” he explained. “I’m okay with not being a mage, I truly am. I’ve seen enough of the dangers and the suspicion to know that I’m not that interested in it.” Bree was silent at his explanation and he felt that he offended her. “I don’t mean to offend you.”

She shook her head with a kind smile. “No, it’s okay, I’m not offended,” she reassured. “You want to hear someone who doesn’t like Mages you should listen to Fenris, and he’s my mother’s bodyguard.”

Duncan wondered just how her family structure worked and thought about asking. Obviously Khrys and Dorian were her parents but he wasn’t sure where Ser Michel fit in. “Okay, I have to ask…Khrys is your mother and Dorian is you father so Michel is…”

Bree grinned, she loved hashing this out with people, it was amusing half the time. “My mother’s lover.”

“So, Dorian and your mother aren’t married?” he asked fishing for clarification.

“He’s not attracted to women,” she put bluntly and Duncan took a moment.

“Well that makes sense,” he mused; it did explain some things and confirmed others. Little things he’d overheard from his parents and others in Denerim. “I’ll admit, I’m curious, if he’s not attracted to women how are you here, but I won’t expect you to answer,” he chuckled and she did as well.

“Oh good…because I’m not going there,” she laughed.

When they got back to the stables they found Alistair with his arms folded across his chest expectantly looking at his son riding toward him. Duncan narrowed his expression. “Oh, I know that look,” he muttered. “What’d I do?” he called to him.

Alistair scoffed as they stopped in front of him. “Well, the Inquisitor was looking for you…so I have been relegated to the fatherly question of: where have you been?”

“It’s my fault, Sire, I always go for a ride in the morning I guess we lost track of time,” she smiled and Alistair looked from her to him and raised his eyebrows.

“You got him out of bed before midday?” Alistair questioned and then smirked, his son was anything but a morning person ‘Mornings are for sleeping’ Duncan always said. Honestly, Alistair couldn’t agree more but his reasons were more centered on being in bed with Lydia. “My Dear, Bree, I like you even more now,” Bree laughed and Duncan rolled his eyes at his father. “The Inquisitor’s waiting for you.”

Duncan slid off of Raider as he heard Bree dismount from Skye. Keeping the Inquisitor waiting was a great start. “Let me take care of him and I’ll be up.”

Bree shook her head and took Raider’s reins. “Don’t worry about him, I’ll take care of him,” she offered and Duncan looked down at her. His mouth worked but only an ‘umm’ came out. “Go. Go on, I’ll take care of him.”

She knew how much he wanted to get a tour of the Inquisition and to talk to the Inquisitor, Bree pictured him asking her mother a million questions and smiled to herself she thought that part of Duncan was charming and cute. Duncan gave her a smile and nodded to her. “Thank you,” he said sincerely and walked away from her with his father.

Bree smiled to herself as she watched him walk away and blushed as he looked over his shoulder at her. Raider curiously sniffed her face and she chuckled rubbing his muzzle before taking him and Skye into the stables.

Alistair snickered at Duncan looking over his shoulder at Bree as he walked away from the stables. Duncan caught his look and furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Still think coming all this way for a birthday wasn’t worth it?” Alistair smirked and Duncan stammered then sighed in resignation.

“Yeah, alright, you’re right,” he said and pacing his father as they climbed the steps. “I like her.”

Alistair’s smile broadened and patted his shoulder. “Oh, good, that’s what we were aiming for,” he said and Duncan heaved a sigh, his parents were trying to marry him off…at least they picked a good one for him.


	5. Malcolm

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Five: Malcolm

 

Malcolm Hawke rode through the town of Herald at a casual walk. It wasn’t particularly cold in the valley but Malcolm wore a long brown hooded cloak that had seen far too many rainy days. It was habit for him to wear it more than anything else. In or near Skyhold was usually safe but given who his father was it often behooved him to be as careful and inconspicuous as possible. His father, Anders, was still wanted throughout Thedas as the mage who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and basically started the uprising that spawned the Mage-Templar War, but no one wanted him more than Starkhaven. Sebastian Vael in particular. Most of his life was spent in seclusion or hiding to protect the family, while he had done nothing wrong he was the perfect way to get to his father and his mother Tessa Hawke. As a mage, he also remained as inconspicuous as possible, going so far as to not use or carry a staff at all. Instead he was an extremely talented rogue. Skyhold was one place he knew he was safe; his entire family was since the Inquisitor provided sanctuary anytime they needed.

Herald was relatively quiet but that wasn’t unusual for the early morning hour. Kyp’s big hooves squelched in the mud as they quietly passed through the sleeping town for the path up to Skyhold. Kyp was an impressive mount, used primarily in northeastern Fereldan as parade and medium cavalry horses, Amaranthine Chargers were by far the most impressive looking horses in all of Thedas. Big and black or dark brown with their big feathered feet and flowing mane and tail, Chargers were prime crowd control horses for their size and intimidating look especially in full armor.

Malcolm had acquired Kyp as a yearling from Dennett before he’d retired to Redcliffe. Malcolm had done most of the training but Thom ensured that the stallion was trained for combat.

At 16, nearly 17, he wasn’t a part of the Inquisition but Skyhold gave him freedom from looking over his shoulder. He was born and raised for several years in the Korcari Wilds but had spent even more time living in Skyhold. He liked Skyhold, he liked the Inquisition.

By the time he’d reached the top of the mountain the sun had peaked over the jagged Frostbacks.

“Messer Hawke,” a guard at the gate greeted putting the other one who didn’t know who he was at ease, “welcome back.”

Malcolm nodded and headed to the stables. He’s been riding for weeks and Kyp could certainly use the rest. He took care of Kyp, making sure the black beast was settled before collecting his bag and heading up to the apartment wing.

**

Bree finished pulling her boots up when a knock came at her door. It was early so she wasn’t sure who would be there. She was usually up at this time preparing to ride. When she opened the door she grinned happily, seeing who it was. “Malcolm!” she exclaimed and dove on him in a tight hug.

Malcolm let out a tired grunt but appreciated the gesture; he allowed a smile that mirrored how tired he was and put his free hand on her back. He had practically grown up with Bree and they were such good friends they told each other almost everything. They were terrors as kids, mischievous trouble makers from age 8 to now. “Hi, Bree,” he said tiredly.

Malcolm was tall like his father, he nearly equaled his height of 6’2”, and he had shaggy un-kept brown hair that was almost shoulder length, with the blue eyes of his mother. Despite his size and his imposing appearance he was often overlooked which is a great benefit for a rogue like him. “By the Maker, I think you got taller,” she said. “Either that or I’m getting shorter.” He chuckled at the comment and she stepped back from him with a twisted expression. “But you smell like a latrine.”

He rolled his eyes as she invited him in. “I could smell worse,” he replied and Bree snorted heading over to the trunk that was doubling as a table for her books next to an overstuffed chair. She heard him close the door as she moved the books to the chair to get into the trunk. “I’ve been riding for weeks…believe me I could smell worse.”

She giggled and opened the trunk revealing a bag made of brown canvas. Malcolm’s other bag that he usually left at Skyhold and entrusted to Bree. “Not by much.” she replied and he gave her a sardonic smile before hoisting the hefty bag from the trunk to over his shoulder along with the other one. “I don’t think your typical room is available.”

“Yeah, I figured. Why are there so many people here?” he asked. Her birthday was in the next few days but that still didn’t account for all the people he passed on the way in. Banners from Fereldan and Orlais numbered more than usual.

“Oh, well, you know…Council meetings, birthday, mom and dad trying to marry me off.”

“Wait, what?” he asked quickly turning his head sharply.

Bree chuckled at his response; two weeks ago her parents told her that she was now being courted. Funny thing was, Bree though that it took two people to court not one courting and the other oblivious. It wasn’t just one though, it was Prince Duncan from Fereldan and Prince Jean-Fredric from Orlais. She’d never met either one before but had heard a great deal about both of them. Duncan was a golden child renowned for his horsemanship and kindness and Jean-Fredric was the dashing, battle tested, Orlesian chevalier…enough said. “Oh yeah…” she replied with a chuckle. “I’ve got two Princes. Fereldan and Orlais…I think my Dad’s heart might stop. The Fereldan one’s here already.”

“Two Princes…wow,” he replied with a surprised tone. “Nice work, Bree. How wound up was your father?”

She chuckled. “Oh, well, let me put it this way, remember when you and I rode down the mountains and were halfway to the Hinterlands before we realized where the hell we were and by the time we got back to Skyhold your Dad and my Dad kinda melded into this Ander-Tevinter rage demon? Worse than that.”

Malcolm bellowed laughter. “That’s hard to do…as I recall your father was literally flaming.”

“Mine? I thought yours was gonna fry me with lightening or turn me into an ice block,” she laughed back and Malcolm sat down in the chair with a tired groan.

“You weren’t alone in that…he probably would have done the same to me,” he chuckled.

Bree chuckled softly and leaned back onto her dresser looking down at him. “You okay?” she asked and he nodded. He was tired and had things on his mind; all he wanted to do was sleep and forget about his argument with his father. The older he got they more they argued, it hurt, it really did. He loved his father; he admired his conviction, so constantly arguing with him was tough.

“Yeah…just…” he began and then retreated, “I’m gonna get bath.” He stood once again hoisting the bags over his shoulder heading for the Bath House.

**

After a nice hot bath, Malcolm was still tired but with his room rented out he had nowhere to sleep and suspected that crashing in Bree’s room would likely result in getting him killed by Khrys and Dorian. Until then he just stored his bag in Bree’s room until he could talk to Khrys. His stomach growled for food as he ran his fingers through his wet hair letting the long brown locks fall where they may. He looked around Bree’s room and found that it hadn’t changed too terribly much. Things cluttered her dresser, trinkets, carvings, candles, candle holders…she had a hodgepodge of things from across Thedas decorating her room and tables. Fenris, Dorian, Khrys, Bull, and others brought all sorts of things back from their travels as gifts for her. He remembered when she’d get a gift every time someone returned.

She loved horses and that was what was found the most in her room, sculptures, drawings, stitching, and all kinds of stuff. In spite of how Dorian talked about and warned her off of Tevinter she was curious about it. A land that was ruled by mages with a proud history, their valiant efforts against the Qunari, and all their black marks but her curiosity about it showed; as many Tevinter relics as she could find littered her room along with the horses and the Elven décor and trinkets. His eyes fell on her bed, the quilt and furs looked comfortable but if the father of a 15 year old caught him in her bed with or without her he’d likely kill him no matter how well they got along.

Malcolm sighed heavily, blinked a few times to wake himself up and straightened his clothes before walking out. The fortress was like home to him almost as much home as the Wilds felt, seeing all the old faces was nice.

The first person Malcolm found was Fenris; he’d heard hundreds of stories about the anti-mage Lyrium Warrior that antagonized his father for years. ‘Hypocrite’ is what Anders called him, to be so against magic and dislike mages simply because they were mages and then to discover his sister was a mage.

Malcolm liked him, Fenris was honest, if nothing else, distrustful of mages so Malcom returned the favor and was blunt and honest with the Elf who seemed to appreciate it. Unless someone knew his horse or spoke to Bree no one knew he was there.

Fenris closed the door leading to the Inquisitor’s chamber behind him quietly. His morning checking with Khrys as he usually did, he was her bodyguard when he wasn’t in far flung areas of Thedas, when he wasn’t present Michel did the rest. As he moved past the Inquisition ‘throne’ he fiddled with the silver gauntlets of his black armor and didn’t see the figure before him until he nearly walked right into him. “Malcolm,” Fenris greeted with some surprise in his voice. “When did you get here?”

“One bath ago,” he replied with a chuckle as he shook the Elf’s hand. “Back for Bree’s birthday and to talk to Khrys.”

Fenris may have hated, or at the very least had an extreme dislike for Anders, but he found that he liked Malcolm. He acted a lot like Tess which was easier for him to handle and he didn’t act like a typical mage.

“Cullen asked me to help train one of his groups, if you wish to join,” Fenris offered. Malcolm liked to train, he always had and he learned from everyone. He was a unique young man but not just as a mage or a rogue. There was something about the Healer that Fenris couldn’t put his finger on, something about him that seemed off or strange. Maybe it was the fact a mage like him trained as a rogue, a walking contradiction.

“Yeah,” he said eagerly. “I need to talk to Khrys first but I picked up a few new moves that I’d like to work against you if you don’t mind.”

Fenris nodded to him. “She’s upstairs,” he said comfortable enough with Malcolm to tell him where the unguarded Inquisitor was.

**

The breeze carried through the room with both balcony doors open, it was actually warm in Skyhold, meaning it was somewhere near 50. It was colder at night but when the sun was out it was quite pleasant. Khrys was sifting through a stack of papers on her desk and sighed. More reports and letters were coming in now than ever in the last month. Skyhold was set to receive dozens of party attendees for Bree’s 16th birthday. Basically her ‘coming out’ ball as Josephine put it; Dorian of course despised putting that label on it. It was amusing to a degree watching the magister fret over this but she understood is worry. The Ball wasn’t the only thing going on, deciding to roll the Ball and the meeting all in one meant that Skyhold was about to be the busiest and most well-guarded fortress in all of Thedas.

The pile of letters upon letters upon letters that had stacked up as she ignored the majority of them had finally subdued her and she started to go through them.

Malcolm got to the top of the steps and heard her humming to herself, recognizing the Dalish tune she liked to sing. He smiled to himself letting the tune bring back some happy memories.

Khrys turned, feeling the presence of another behind her and smiled. “Malcolm!” she grinned dropping the papers on the desk and bounded to him for a hug. Malcolm had gotten taller but she was always short and tiny so everyone was taller than her. “Are your parents here?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I left early,” he said with a smile and returned her embrace. “They should be here tomorrow or the next day. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Straight to business?” she questioned and took a step back from him looking him up and down. “Let me get a look at you.”

Malcolm took a half a step back from her and set his arms out to the side as if placing himself on display. “Ma neuven, Inquisitor.”

“Ma _nuvenin_ ,” she corrected with a smile. “You never could get Elvish right,” she added and returned to her observation of him. “Wow…look at you…you look so much like your father.” Despite her and his father’s clashing, Malcolm took that as a compliment and wore it proudly like any son who looked up to their father would have. “Have you seen Bree? She’ll be overjoyed to have you back for a while. You are staying a while, right?”

Malcolm gave a nondescript nod. “Yes I saw her and as for me staying…that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Khrys gave the quiet young man her full attention. “I want to join the Inquisition,” he announced without beating around the bush.

Khrys honestly couldn’t say she was surprised. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Malcolm had given this a lot of thought and scoffed. “Nothing else for me to do, I don’t want to be a Warden, I’m a mage so Seeker and Templar is out, I want nothing to do with the Mage College…either of them. I want to work, Skyhold is like home to me…I want to be a part of the Inquisition for as long as it lasts,” he concluded, he was well spoken and straightforward, something most people liked about him. Most never knew he spent half is life among the Chasind. “Both Cullen and Charter said they could use me.”

Khrys leaned back on her desk, half sitting on it, thinking. Malcolm was potentially an exceptional agent, a mage and a rogue, a healer and a killer, someone who could balance both of those things was incredibly rare. Trained in magic by his father and mother, and his rogue training from the Crow assassin Zevran Arainai and from her very own version of an assassin, Cole; he was a fine horseman, followed orders and had a mind for the arcane. Anyone of her senior staff could use him, from Morrigan to Cullen. He was only 16 though, a bit young, but she knew agents far younger had been recruited against Corypheus.

“What do your parents say?” she asked and Malcolm snorted.

“Stay away from Templars,” he joked and Khrys snorted.

“Cullen’s a Templar,” Khrys stated and Malcolm offered her a smile.

“Former, ‘He’s the harmless one.’ Verbatim from my father,” he said and Khrys laughed out loud.

“And your father’s razor whit,” she chuckled. “Don’t tell Cullen he’s ‘harmless’…he’ll use you as a practice dummy, I guarantee it. He’s pretty good with throwing knives,” she informed and Malcolm could see that. Even with his deteriorating state he was still the best warrior the Inquisition had. “Have you asked your parents about this?”

“Spoke to mom…” he said and then fell a little quieter, “Dad is…Dad’s a little harder to uhh…for me to talk to.” Malcolm loved his father but for some reason unknown to anyone outside that family there was a fundamental breakdown in conversation between them. Which was extremely odd. They were Healers, they had the same morals, same humor, it was a logical assumption that they got along but they didn’t, and it was almost heartbreaking to watch. “I figured that you’d be able to smooth anything over with them if you accepted.”

She decided right there, she could use Malcolm and he needed a place to belong and find his path. “Alright, Malcolm Garrett Hawke, welcome to the Inquisition,” she smiled and the young stoic mage smiled to her. “I’ll pair you with other agents for a while and we’ll see who can use you more.”

Malcolm smiled, happy that she said yes. “Thank you, Khrys,” he said genuinely, feeling that he had somewhere to belong to now was almost too much for him.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she warned and walked up to him. “Could be sent to the furthest edges of Thedas for weeks at a time.”

“As if I don’t do that anyway,” he replied and she chuckled with a nod.

“Fair enough,” she said and looked him up and down. “You look tired.”

Malcolm sighed. “Very much so,” he replied tiredly.

It occurred to Khrys that he didn’t have a room. “And I rented your room…sorry.” Malcolm shook his head as Khrys gestured to her couch. “You’re welcome to it.”

Malcolm offered her a nod. “Maybe later, Fenris said he was training…I wanted to join.”

A smile spread across her face; that was typical of him, Malcolm didn’t like to sit idle, not one bit. He was a focused, driven, quiet man but everyone felt something odd about him. He trained and trained at all hours to be the best at everything he could be. As a mage, he was extremely adept at creation magic, just like his father he was a born healer, but his destruction side was just as finely tuned. Mastering lightening and the force discipline at a young age. As a rogue, he was a whirling dervish practically dancing through his targets with extraordinary grace, like watching Cole, so light with the touch and eerily precise. “Might have known,” she smiled. “When you’re finished with them and you want to sleep come up here and use the couch. I’ll find you a room.”

Malcolm nodded, satisfied in his task. It went better than he thought it would, he was expecting to have to talk her into it. He was thankful he didn’t have to though; Khrys was always able to see right through him and find the root of the issue. This wasn’t about his father…it was about finding his own way. Though what his father thought weighed on him and he thought about that as he headed back down the steps.

**

Skyhold was busier than it usually was, as the Inquisition Headquarters it was always busy with couriers, military officials, ambassadors, agents, and that was just for Inquisition business. Skyhold wasn’t technically a noble house but it had all the popularity of it so nobles wanting to kiss the Inquisitions ass did so by trying to kiss Khrys’ ass. Malcolm wasn’t used to so many people crowding the Keep and decided that he really didn’t like it. He wasn’t used to being around too many people, since he was little he was raised with very few people.

“Oh!” Cole exclaimed happily stopping Malcolm in his tracks as he almost walked into him. “Hello! They’re back,” he said looking at Malcolm and the mage shook the spirit’s hand as Cole babbled in his own way. “Quieter. Softer. More harmonious…as it should be, like a Chantry Choir,” he said quickly. “Your father didn’t mean it.”

Malcolm’s discomfort with the topic was plainly evident and Cole snapped out of what he couldn’t control. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. You’re hurting; I want to help the hurts.”

He understood, probably better than most. “I know, Cole, but I’m okay,” he assured letting Cole’s hand go. The pair got along extremely well; it was both incredible and eerie at the same time. Cole finished the rogue’s training expanding on Zevran’s early lessons creating a deadly weapon in the form of a man. Both Cole and Malcolm had an eerie level headedness to them.

**

Before he headed down to training he made a detour to the stables, he spent a lot of time with his horse so the Charger basically lived better than he did. He’d ridden all night over rough terrain; his horse was his prized possession. He let a smile spread across his face seeing a familiar man by the stables tending to an obviously Antivan bred Taslin Strider. Hot-blooded horses that he never really liked, he appreciated their spirit but he preferred a horse that was a little mellower and not as hard a keeper.

“Malcolm,” Thom greeted with a grin stepping away from the gleaming chestnut mare. “I thought that was Kyp in the stables.”

The burly man stepped up to him and Malcolm smiled. “Thom,” he replied as they clasped arms in friendship.

“Welcome back,” he said and looked the young man up and down. “You look exhausted, son.”

Malcolm scoffed and kept walking as the stocky senior agent paced him. “That’s a polite way of saying I look like shit,” he chuckled tiredly.

Thom chuckled as Malcolm snatched an apple from a basket watching him causally toss it in the air then check it for bruises. “Well, you do.”

“I rode all night…no place to sleep until Khrys finds me something more permanent,” he said taking a bite out of the apple. Malcolm entered the stables and crossed quickly to the stall Kyp was in. “Hey, you,” he said quietly and offered the black beast the rest of the apple.

“You spoil him,” he stated and Malcolm chuckled to that.

“He’s a good boy,” Malcolm replied and patted his neck.

Thom’s observation of Malcolm made him cant his head. Malcolm was naturally a quiet man, very reserved and typically kept to himself but his manner right now was different. Like something was weighing on him. “You alright, Son?”

Malcolm was getting tired of being asked that. He really needed to figure out how to hide his ‘troubled, deep in thought expression’. “Yeah,” he sighed and put on a smile that was decidedly unconvincing. “I’m just tired…but if I sleep now I’ll be up all night.” This became a little more awkward that he’d expected. “I’m going to go help Cullen and Fenris train. I want to look at his feet later.”

Thom let the young man avoid whatever was bothering him and looked down at Kyp’s feet but nodded. “I could look at them for you,” he offered but Malcolm shook his head, Thom knew he’d say no. Malcolm liked to tend to his horse personally, he always had.

**

Training a small group that was a mixture of regular army and agents was business as usual for Skyhold, they always needed small companies to scout and go on covert assignments. They had some special training to go through first since the Inquisition was filled with a hodgepodge of people from very different backgrounds. Templars, Mages, Wardens, Assassins, the list went on. Mostly everyone got along but there was still the lingering animosity between Templars and Mages that needed to be addressed before anyone went out on a mission and the fur flew.

Cullen couldn’t believe his luck, Fenris was one thing, quite possibly the most dangerous person in the Inquisition…maybe even the world, but now he had Malcolm. Malcolm was a perfect training tool to show anyone new that things aren’t always as they seem. So now, Cullen watched as Malcolm systematically tore down each opponent with dull blades. It was almost laugh out loud funny.

Malcolm did away with just using his daggers and released a small burst of force power to shove the tall warrior back from him. It wasn’t enough to hurt him but it was enough to knock him on his ass. Cullen’s teaching point came to fruition.

The tall warrior took offense and sprang to his feet looking like he was ready to kill Malcolm for the insult of catching him off guard. “You’re a Mage?” he snapped but the answer was blatantly obvious. Malcolm said nothing in response but was clearly ready for anything the warrior was about to do. He had a focus that no one else could match in a fight, Cullen had noticed that years ago, and it added to the eerily strange feeling about Malcolm as a whole.

“Alright,” Cullen began ending anything that might happen, “that’s enough. Yes, Malcolm is a mage.” The group was stunned, rather hilariously, and Cullen and Fenris could see it. Fenris was something that was unique and a bitch to fight against, good to train people against but Malcolm was the very definition of ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’. “Nothing is as it seems in the Inquisition.”

The group had two former Templars in it and they didn’t have a clue. One of them, a blonde woman looked almost offended by it. “A mage? You said he was a rogue?”

“Malcolm is both. He is a skilled assassin but also a very gifted mage,” Cullen stated stepping down to them. “If you’re going to be part of a scouting company you will all have to learn how to deal with the unexpected and if you have a problem with mages…you’re going to have to learn how to handle that too,” he added directing the last part to the blonde Templar woman.

“Yes, Commander,” she responded with a sharp nod and Cullen looked her up and down then at the rest before turning to Malcolm.

“Malcolm and Fenris are just two of the most unique members of the Inquisition we have. You’re being brought from the Templar order, the army, and recruited agents…better get used to things not being as they seem. That’ll be all today,” their Commander finished and then turned from them patting Malcolm’s shoulder. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

Malcolm allowed a stoic smile and nodded at him, he was uncomfortable with the way the blonde Templar was looking at him and let her depart first before turning his back on her. “My pleasure, Cullen,” he said finally and visibly relaxed.

“You’ve gotten much better since last I saw you,” Cullen commented as he walked with him.

Malcolm tried not to scoff at that. He’d practiced since the last time Cullen watched him fight, he may have been young but he had encountered many fights in his time, bandits, assassins, hunters looking for his father. “Yeah…” he said drawing out the word. “I’ve had a few occasions to use it.”

“I see,” Cullen replied. “The Inquisitor told me she accepted your request to join. Welcome to the Inquisition,” he said and offered his hand to him.

Malcolm paused and shook the Commander’s hand. “Thank you.”

As Cullen gave him a sharp nod and took his leave Fenris took his place next to Malcolm. “Cullen’s right, you have gotten better,” he commented. “Who have you been practicing on?”

Malcolm shrugged, he was okay telling Cullen and Fenris and a few others in the Inquisition this but he still had to be careful. There was still an open warrant on his father from Starkhaven. “Bounty Hunters sent by the Prince. Three of them found me in the Wilds last year; somehow they knew who I was and demanded I take them to my father…”

Fenris knew how that ended. “Three…you have gotten good.”

Malcolm sighed, he wasn’t ashamed for what he did; he protected his family. “Fenris, I didn’t just kill them, I sent a message. Left their bodies at the edge Wilds…I don’t know why.”

Fenris studied the young man with a furrowed brow and curious expression. Malcolm never struck him and the squeamish type, he did what needed to be done, of course he wasn’t there for everything but so far his judgement of his character had been spot on. He had Tess’ work ethic but his father’s annoying sense of humor. “Because you’re not a murderer, Malcolm.”

“I could have just left them in the woods and no one would have found them,” he added and sounded almost frustrated with himself over this lack of understanding something that he did.

Fenris wasn’t a counselor and didn’t pretend to be. “I don’t know,” he replied simply. “You did what you had to do to protect your family.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve killed, I’m not worried about that,” Malcolm sighed and switched off that subject as he ran his right hand through this mop of unkempt hair. “Guess it’s a bad time to mention that after moving the hunters’ bodies I sent a letter to Sebastian saying ‘Better luck next time.’?”

Fenris actually laughed out loud to that, that definitely sound like something Anders would do and therefore something that his son would do as well. “I imagine that did not please, Sebastian.”

Malcolm chuckled and scratched his forehead. “No, I suppose not,” he replied, his airy chuckle reminding Fenris of Anders.

Dorian was in his usual haunt in Skyhold, the library was one of his two favorite places to be, the other was the tavern. The little alcove by the stairs was still claimed by him, stacks of books resided by the big chair by the window, bottles of wine, most of them empty, were neatly collected in the same area. To Dorian’s credit the majority of those were accumulated over the span of months. He’d only started picking up his wine drinking habit again now that Bree was older. He’d gone from normal habit of usually a bottle a few times a week to one maybe two in a month when she was born. She heard him sigh heavily as he faced the window turning pages in the book his was poring over.

Dorian felt a hand slip around his waist and drift dangerously far south. “Aren’t you a delight,” he heard Khrys say with a mischievous tone. She was teasing him, typical of her.

Dorian didn’t move and kept reading, he was used to her teasing him. “Unless you are a stunningly handsome Elf named Balian, please don’t go there,” he grumbled sounding a little more irritated than usual.

Khrys giggled and moved next to him to see what he was doing. “You really miss him don’t you?” she asked, the question was rhetorical. “How long’s it been since you saw him last?”  
“Nearly a year,” he grumbled with a curt tone.

Khrys grimaced sympathetically. “Oh, honey, we’ve got to fix that,” she said and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’d come here if you asked him.”

Dorian huffed closing the book and eyed her sharply. “I did,” he replied shortly beginning to get annoyed. “Balian serves Starkhaven.”

“He serves Sebastian,” she clarified. “You deserve to be with the person you love,” she added and he pushed her hand off his arm.

Dorian was growing annoyed with this line of conversation. “I am. I have Bree and you and Balian when we’re in the same vicinity.”

“Dorian-…” she began but he cut her off with a huff.

“Can we not talk about this?” he asked but his tone was firm in that it wasn’t a request.

Khrys sighed eyeing him, irritated with his behavior toward his relationship with Balian. He did love him and they were perfect together but his insistence to deny the idea that he needed to be with him was infuriating to everyone else around him. “Have it your way,” she gave in with a sigh. “I do have one bit of news you might be interested to hear.”

Dorian opened the book again thumbed to the place he was before he’d hastily closed it. “If it’s another letter from some damn nation asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage you can burn it, Khrys,” he replied and she chuckled lightly.

“Fortunately, Josie’s intercepting all of those.” she smiled and he gave her a mock glare. “Malcolm’s back…and he asked to join the Inquisition.”

Dorian stopped reading and turned to her giving her his attention. “He what?” he asked and sounded a bit surprised at that.

“I think he and Anders had another fight,” she said quietly and Dorian closed the book placing it back on the table.

Dorian huffed loudly at that. Malcolm and Anders fighting…no surprise there but it irritated Dorian, Malcolm was a good kid and no one knew why he and Anders fought like they did. “What did you say?”

“I said yes,” she said and Dorian cocked his head narrowing his eyes, but she stopped him before he could ask his next question. “He’s 16 and he already scouts on his own and he has a multitude of talents…I figure what’s was the harm?”

Dorian shrugged with a sarcastic snort. “Oh…I don’t know…he could be killed,” he tossed out and Khrys sighed.

Khrys groaned, she loved his fatherly side but at times it was the most annoying thing about him. “Dorian, would you turn off the ‘father to every child in Skyhold’ feature for a moment?” she asked and he grudgingly nodded with a sigh. “He’s looking for somewhere to belong but I think you should talk to him…make sure he’s making this decision because he wants to not because of any problems there are between he and Anders.”

He scratched his head. “You want me to talk him out of it?” he asked and she shook her head sharply.

“Creators no...Someone as versatile as him I could use,” she said and he nodded understanding what she was talking about now.

He sighed heavily knowing why she wanted him to talk to Malcolm. Most of the children in Skyhold took a shine to Dorian, he had a way about him, and they responded to him and respected his authority. When he spoke they listened and when he barked an order they mostly obeyed. Both Dorian and Cullen had inadvertently become the Skyhold ‘fathers’, Cullen’s presence alone was enough to command all but his own children as it seemed. Dorian’s presence was different but the bottom line was that if a kid came to him for any reason he’d care for it, he passed out gifts and played games with them. He taught Malcolm how to play Chess and they bonded over years of playing the game.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and stepped up to him kissing his right cheek before leaving. “And…talk to Balian…please,” she added before stepping out of sight.

Dorian grumbled at the last request and picked the book up again glowering at the spine. This book was supposed to have some insight into what they could do for Cullen but so far it had been nothing more than a dry read.

At Khrys’ request, Dorian made his way into the stables finding Malcolm where he usually spent his time; he doted on that Charger like it was his own baby. The teenager’s stoic demeanor was a foil to his outgoing and talkative father.

With all the people coming to Skyhold lately he was actually pleased to see Malcolm, the kid was intriguing. He was a skilled rogue and a gifted mage but there was something strange about him, something Dorian couldn’t quite place, nevertheless, he like him.

“Malcolm,” Dorian announced making noise so he didn’t spook the black beast who’s feet Malcolm was picking.

Malcolm looked up from Kyp’s right hind foot quickly then returned to his task finishing it up. “Hi, Dorian,” he replied and let Kyp’s foot go.

“Welcome back,” he smiled as Malcolm stood up straight and shook his hand firmly.

Malcolm nodded at the mage before him. “Thank you,” he smiled genuinely. “It’s good to be back.”

Dorian watched him go back to tending the muscled black Charger busily munching on hay. Malcolm didn’t like beating around the bush and appreciated people getting right to the point with him, Dorian respected that. “Khrys tells me you might be back for good,” he stated and leaned against the post. “You joined the Inquisition?”

Malcolm decided that Kyp’s feet were fine and traded the hoofpick for a stiff bristle brush; he’d always been able to talk to Dorian. The mage was a master at being a father no matter what kid he was talking to. He nodded and looked at him “Yeah,” he replied and seemed happy about his decision. “I think it’ll be a good fit.”

Dorian couldn’t help but play the fatherly role here. “Umm…I have to ask…are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve seen what happens, what can happen. Things go wrong, people get hurt, killed, captured.”

Malcolm shrugged, he honestly wasn’t worried about that, he never had been. “Dorian, I’ve always been out there…scouting, on my own, with the Chasind…others. I know the Korcari Wilds like the back of my hand thanks to all the time I’ve spent alone out there.”

Dorian sighed heavily. “Are you doing this because of your father?” he asked bluntly and Malcolm paused in his task of grooming Kyp’s shiny black coat. He sighed heavily enough it could almost be considered a huff and Dorian observed the young man; he reminded him of himself when he was younger, the situation wasn’t the same…in fact no one knew why Malcolm and Anders clashed like they did.

He shook his head and turned to him. “No,” he answered and Dorian believed him. “He won’t be pleased but I did talk to mom about this. She’ll smooth it out.”

“Malcolm, you know if there’s anything you need you can always come to me,” Dorian said and his tone reflected that he only wanted to help.

The young mage smiled warmly and nodded at him. “I know,” he replied in a sincere tone. Dorian had always been there to help, almost as much as his own father but they never fought, that was the benefit of Dorian. He didn’t judge him for things he couldn’t control. “Thank you, Dorian.”

Dorian stood up straight from his position casually leaning on the post satisfied with his talk. Khrys didn’t want him to talk him out of it but she did want to know if the interest was genuine. To Dorian it was but only time would tell in that regard, however, he really didn’t want to be present if Anders hit the roof over this. “You should sleep. You look tired,” he commented and Malcolm stopped in mid brush stroke, he had a running tally in his head of how many times people had told him that today.

“Well, Bree offered her bed…can I sleep there?” he asked and knew the response he was going to get. Dorian was halfway out the door when that question floated to his ears and froze sharply turning his head back to Malcolm his expression a mix of amusement and irritation. Malcolm simply chuckled. “Kidding, Dorian.”

Dorian lingered a moment before tossing a single ‘Ha!’ over his shoulder as Malcolm’s chuckle followed him.

Finished with Kyp he stepped away and leaned on the railing for a horse a few stalls down. He was unfamiliar to him situated next to Dragon, definitely a Courser, young and very striking. “Who are you?” he asked the horse in a quiet tone as the stallion nosed him curiously. Malcolm stepped into the stall and ran his hands over the horse. Whoever owned him had an excellent eye, he was still partial to Chargers but Coursers were exceptional war horses.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked from behind him.

Malcolm pivoted slightly as he ran his hand down the right front leg. “Who are you?”

The man was about his age, about 5’10 shaggy brown hair that was better kept than his and had sort of a regal look about him. “Who are you?” he asked and Malcolm scoffed.

“I asked you first,” Malcolm replied.

“Technically, I asked you first,” he countered as Malcolm snorted.

“No, you asked if you could help me, which you can’t,” he corrected as the young man huffed.

“Duncan Theirin,” he answered with an irritated tone.

Malcolm turned to face him completely and furrowed his brow looking him up and down. “As in the Fereldan Prince?” he asked and Duncan nodded, Malcolm took a moment then shrugged and turned away patting the horse.

“That’s it?” Duncan asked a little confused by his reaction, so far everyone had falling over themselves to do his bidding or stay in his good graces but not this man. This man was tall, well built, shaggy un-kept hair, blue eyes, and didn’t seem to give a damn about being in the presence of the heir to Fereldan. “Not going to fall on one knee and pledge yourself to a Prince?”

Malcolm scoffed. “Not my Prince,” he replied and Duncan narrowed his expression, that was a switch and he watch him turn from his horse and come out of the stall to face him.  
Duncan snorted and shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Malcolm Hawke,” he introduced extending his hand.

“A pleasure” he replied with a firm handshake. “He’s mine,” he added pointing to Raider.

Malcolm took his hand away from him and looked over his shoulder toward the Courser. “A fine animal, watch his back though…he’s a little sore.”

“Long ride from Denerim,” Duncan replied and Malcolm could appreciate that. The ride from the wilds was about as long and hard too, which was one reason he kept a close eye on Kyp.

“I hear that,” he agreed. “So you’re the reason I don’t have a bed?”

Duncan’s brow furrowed, the room he’d been given had the feel of someone else and it must have belonged to him. “Sorry about that,” he apologized and Malcolm shrugged like it was nothing, Duncan was pleased with Malcolm’s casual behavior toward him.

“If you’re the Prince of Fereldan that means you’re the one they want Bree to marry,” he stated and Duncan didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure of Malcolm yet, so far the atmosphere was relaxed between them but they had just met.

“You know Bree?” he asked and Malcolm stepped over to a black Charger that was impressive to say the least.

“I’ve known Bree since we could barely walk,” he said and finished up checking the stallion for the night.

Duncan raised his eyebrows, Bree and Malcolm grew up together. He laced his hands behind his back and cocked his head to him. “Really?” he asked as Malcolm left his horse’s stall. “Do you have a problem with it?”

Malcolm sighed and faced him directly. “It’s not my place, but I care about Bree, fortunately…if Khrys or Dorian don’t like you I won’t have to worry about it,” he stated with a snort and a half smile.

Duncan was still not sure what to think of Malcolm, he had a cavalier attitude toward him and that was the best thing about this conversation. “You know you’re the first person that I’ve met in a very long time that hasn’t fallen all over themselves to cater to me just because I’m a Prince.”

Malcolm chuckled and shrugged. “That’s the benefit of me not giving a shit,” he responded cheerily and that made Duncan laugh.

“You sound Fereldan,” Duncan commented as they casually started walking out of the stables.

“My fathers from the Anderfels, my mother’s a Free Marcher, and I was born in Fereldan…I don’t care about Kings, Emperors, and Princes,” he stated and Duncan nodded, he could understand that. “Now I don’t know about you, My Prince, but I’m starving,” he added and Duncan scoffed shaking his head at the intentional teasing.

Duncan chuckled and nodded. “I am always hungry, Malcolm,” he replied as his stomach growled. “Warden blood.”

Malcolm looked over at the young prince while they walked. He’d only ever heard of the Warden Prince, the Miracle Child, the only child born to two Wardens, the list went on of the things he’d heard the poor kid called. Having all those awful nicknames would aggravate the hell out of him so if Duncan hadn’t left a body count behind him after 17 years of being called all those names he had way more patience than he did. Duncan seemed to be a good guy and Malcolm trusted Dorian and Khrys. He was certain that if Dorian didn’t like him Duncan wouldn’t be anywhere near Skyhold or Bree. He wasn’t sure how he felt about him right now but it was good to have someone else besides Bree that was his age.

**

As soon as Malcolm’s head hit the pillow on the couch in Khrys’ room he passed out, he was falling down exhausted and eating supper was the final nail in the coffin. As soon as he ate that was it, he was starving and ate more than he normally did and almost didn’t make it up the steps to pass out on the couch but as soon as he found it that was all she wrote. He didn’t even hear Khrys and Michel have an hour long conversation on the balcony with Fenris, Dorian showing up to bitch a little more about how out of hand his daughter’s birthday party was becoming, and the fact that there was a suitor in the Keep no matter how much he liked him.

No one really cared about carrying on a conversation around Malcolm’s sleeping body, the kid notoriously slept like a rock. Bree could be awoken by a feather falling from the ceiling but Malcolm could sleep through a damn invasion.

The one thing that they all noticed was Malcolm was still armed while he slept. Fenris could guarantee that if something went sideways the mage/rogue would be the first to the defense; he had an eerie sixth sense people picked up on. Dorian hated that Malcolm slept armed; he’d lived his life on the run in the Wilds with his parents, and the only safe place he’d ever been was Skyhold but still he slept armed.

The sun came through the stained glass on the balcony doors and warmed Malcolm’s face while he slept. He didn’t snore and that was a blessing to Khrys and Michel who never heard the kid stir at all through the night. Not only did he sleep all night but through late in the morning, unusual for him as he was a very early riser most of the time.

His dreams were usually unpleasant, very strange ever since he was a kid, old battles that were before his time, dreams of spirits and demons the likes of which he could never truly comprehend. There was a tickling on his face which was strange given the dream he was in the middle of. Feathers seemed rather out of place while he dreamed of spirits and demons. He stirred and batted at what was tickling his face and waking himself up in the process.

He heard a familiar giggle and opened one bleary eye. The woman crouched down by the couch was familiar indeed. She had long brown hair that draped down over her shoulders, pale, clean skin, and the crisp blue eyes that he had inherited. It was his mother, Tess, the Champion of Kirkwall. He groaned and blinked a few times trying to rid the sleep from them.

“Mom,” he grunted then yawned.

“Rise and shine,” she giggled as only a mother could giggle.

He shifted on the couch and rubbed his face. “Where’s Dad?”

“Here,” he heard his father’s all too familiar voice say from outside his field of vision causing him to crane his head back to find it. “You ran away from us, Mal, how long have you been here?”

Malcolm sat up and stretched his back. Dorian said this couch was comfortable but Malcolm disagreed, it wasn’t bad but he’d slept on more comfortable planks. It wasn’t that the couch was hard it was the exact opposite…it was too soft. He was used to sleeping on the ground and on bed rolls, feather beds hurt his back. “Early yesterday morning,” he replied and cleared his throat.

Anders raised his eyebrows and looked over at him. “Well, you made good time,” he chuckled. To be perfectly honest Anders and Tess took their time. Ever since they met they had a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Malcolm was glad to ride ahead.

According to everyone who knew him before he was born, his father hadn’t changed at all. He was still ruggedly handsome, with his shaggy blonde hair without a hint a grey, whiskey colored eyes, and his impressive stature. The only thing different about him now was that he was far more sane, there was no longer a spirit within him that was slowly driving him mad. He still had his sense of humor and that was something they shared besides the innate healing and height.

His father appeared as he always did to him, he had his long black leather coat, a blue shirt, black trousers, and tall, supple black leather boots. He had a knife on his right hip, a satchel full of healing tonics and bandages on the left, and his legendary staff Freedom’s Call on his back. Malcolm had always aspired to be like his father; he stood up for what was right damning the consequences. He started the Circle uprisings which started the Mage-Templar War. Malcolm looked up to him for his convictions and tried to match them.

His mother wore what she usually did while traveling; she was still the Champion of Kirkwall and hadn’t found any better armor than what the city had given her after she defeated the Arishok in single combat. Tessa was who he learned all his force abilities from, the magic discipline that was unique to the Kirkwall circle was something Tessa, an apostate, figured out how to master. He was nowhere near her caliber but he was still young and his power was only increasing.

“Kyp and I always travel fast alone,” Malcolm replied and tugged his boots on while surveying the room. “What time is it?”

“Late morning…after 10, I think,” Anders answered as Malcolm stood collecting daggers.

“I shouldn’t have slept that long,” he commented as he straightened his clothes to look at least somewhat presentable.

“What are you doing sleeping up here anyway?” Tess asked as she stepped around him to straighten the collar on his shirt.

“Khrys gave my room to the Fereldan Prince,” he answered and Anders nodded turning away from his son.

“It’s good to know Skyhold hasn’t changed much,” Anders said and moved toward one of the balcony doors. “Security is a little tighter than I remember though.”

“Sebastian is supposed to be in today,” Malcolm informed explaining at least part of the reason Cullen and Thom’s men were on high alert.

Anders smiled like he had just accepted a challenge. “Ahh…my favorite pious Prince,” he cackled like he was hatching a scheme. Skyhold was safe ground for him, Khrys made it abundantly clear that Sebastian’s open warrant for Anders was void in the Keep and anyone who laid a hand on the mage would land in the Inquisition dungeon and that included the Prince himself. “Well, birthday party and Council meeting aside…this should be fun to watch.”


	6. Balian

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Six: Balian

 

Sebastian’s Honor Guard consisted of about four, maybe a bit light for the Free Marcher prince but they were four of his best not including his absolute best warrior, Balian Lavellan. His champion and personal body guard was a Dalish Elf, a clansman of the Inquisitor who’d proved his worth over the years.

Balian cantered his big cream colored gelding into Skyhold’s lower courtyard. This wasn’t first time he’d been to Skyhold and he loved coming back, loved coming to see one person to be more specific. He slowed his horse to a tight circle as he came to a stop scanning the area. He didn’t expect any danger from Skyhold but it was his job to protect the Prince.

He remembered the first time he saw Skyhold, the gleaming fortress in the sky, a legendary fortress among the Avvar and Elves but no one knew who built it. It had been occupied by the Inquisition for over 15 years and was probably the most inaccessible Fortress in all of Thedas. His clansman had found a hell of a base of operations. The rest of Sebastian’s envoy trotted into Skyhold behind him, the other guards fanned out in protection of their sovereign. The odds of any danger coming from Skyhold low but they wouldn’t be an Honor Guard if they assumed no harm would come from an ally.

They were greeted by Thom and his fortress guard and escorted to the Main Hall. Skyhold hadn’t changed much since the last time Balian had been there, he was glad to see Thom. People scoffed and sneered at his past indiscretions but Balian only looked at how he was treated and their deeds, not their past.

Despite the comfort of Skyhold, Balian took nothing for granted and kept his guard up; he kept his eyes open for anything that could threaten his Prince. Sebastian was his Prince, his employer, and above of all, his friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Thom’s guards or Cullen’s men it was just that Sebastian’s life was too important to lose by becoming complacent.

**

Khrys worked her right hand a few times feeling it stiff, she’d broken it killing Corypheus’ archdemon years ago and on occasion it gave her fits. Stiff when it was cold or just a dull ache when she was tired. She listened as Dorian voiced his opinion on the madhouse Skyhold had become, not an issue entirely; however, it was the people who were slated to attend that were trickling in. His biggest concern was Anders more than everyone else. The mage did a fine job of pissing off just about everyone who was supposed to attend in some way shape or form.

Dorian paced aimlessly and observed her looking at her hand and working it. “Do you have any idea the mess we’ll have when Sebastian gets here? Anders is here…” Dorian said and she raised an eyebrow at him. “You know he still wants him executed for what happened in Kirkwall.”

Khrys nodded quietly. “Yes, I know and they know how to behave here. Neutral.”

“That’s easy to say, remember the argument they got into last time?” Dorian reminded and she nodded with a smile holding up her hand and moving closer to him. She patted his chest shushing him.

Michel eyed them both and shook his head to Dorian. “Do you ever not fret?” Michel asked noticing Khrys working the pain out of her hand. Dorian’s sarcastic smile was the only response.

“It’ll be fine, Dorian, relax,” she assured and he sighed heavily.

Michel moved closer to her taking her hand to examine it. “Is your hand alright?” he asked and she nodded quickly.

“Yeah…just sore is all,” she replied and he eyed her trying to discern if he believed her or not. No one had even known about that injury until long after the battle was over, that was one reason why it hadn’t healed seamlessly when the mage healers tended to it.

“May I present Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven; Warden of Kirkwall, Markham, and Wycome,” the Herald announced and Dorian looked over his shoulder.

The gleaming white Andrastian armor of Sebastian Vael was hard to miss. He was a handsome man no matter what side you landed on. He was tall a little taller than Dorian with brown hair that was starting to fleck with grey and the most striking blue eyes that anyone had ever seen. With all the battles the man had fought over the past two decades he managed to keep his face clean of scars, though the first time Dorian had met him he was limping heavily from a spear that went through his left leg, so it was safe to say all his scars were hidden under his clothing. Dorian had to admit he was a good looking guy but a bit too religious for his taste.

Starkhaven was a substantial ally to the Inquisition and had continued unwavering support over the years as Sebastian wound up expanding his kingdom. Not only did the Inquisition owe him for his long standing support, but Khrystabel owed him a personal debt that she could never repay. Wycome’s Duke, Antoine, had been an Inquisition supporter and was ‘protecting’ Clan Lavellan until he betrayed them and attacked. Khrystabel sent a message to Starkhaven and pleaded with her new ally to help her Clan as the Inquisition would be hard pressed to get there in time. Sebastian came through; he marched on Wycome and smashed their forces then executed the Duke for his treachery.

With the Mage Rebellion, the Mage-Templar War, the death of the Divine, the race to stop Corypheus, and a new mysterious Qunari/Elven threat, the Free Marches descended into chaos. After the Exalted Council, where the Inquisition was anticipated to disband the opposite happened, it came away stronger and more powerful throwing various cities across Thedas into an open revolt. Fereldan and Orlais quelled theirs with relative ease but the Free Marches targeted Starkhaven’s forces. Kirkwall attempted, again, to expel Starkhaven’s forces and failed but Markham attacked Ostwick, a long standing ally of Starkhaven. Sebastian, who was in Wycome at the time, took half his Wycome force to Ostwick’s aid crushing Markham’s attacking force in one swift and decisive victory subsequently taking over Markham as well. While Sebastian ended up controlling trouble spots in the Free Marches, he found himself ruling over half of the Free Marches and nearly its entire coastline.

Now he had declared everything from Kirkwall to Wycome and everything south of the river lands protected by Starkhaven and his marriage to Evelyn Trevelyan solidified his hold on the entire southeast portion of the Free Marches.

“Sebastian,” Khrystabel greeted with a bright and friendly smile. She’d always liked him but his religious behavior tended to get on her nerves. He was a tremendous ally and a good friend though so she let him have his ceremony. “Welcome back to Skyhold.”

When Sebastian reached her Dorian counted off in his head. _“Three. Two. One,”_ he thought and the Prince dropped to one knee before her. “Your Worship,” he heard him say and smile proudly to himself. _“Right on cue.”_

Sebastian knew full well that Khrys hated being called that but no one could stop the former Chantry Brother from ignoring his beliefs. “You honor me, Herald of Andraste.”

“Oh, Sebastian, get up,” she smiled and he rose to his feet looking down at the tiny white haired Elf. “How is my Clan?”

The Prince smiled to her and took a respectful step back. “Those not in the city have settled nicely into Wycome and in the hills south of the river, good hunting this time of year,” his voice was to die for, she wasn’t romantically interested in him but he could talk to her all he wanted just so she could hear his voice. Smooth and rich and that Starkhaven accent, like a voice sent down from the Maker himself.

“You remember Michel de Chevin?” she said and the Chevalier bowed respectfully.

As the pleasantries were exchanged between long standing allies and friends Dorian’s eyes fell on Balian, Sebastian’s guard and Champion and a slight smile graced his lips. Balian caught his gaze and smile, he felt his cheeks and ears flush and tinge pink. He looked away quickly feeling a little embarrassed as he could hear Dorian nearly chuckle.

Balian wasn’t terribly tall, about 5’9”, lean but had the muscle of a seasoned warrior, with the Dirthamen vallaslin gracing his face adding to the appeal. He had dark brown hair that was thick and somewhat unruly and dark green eyes with a slight hint of blue. He wasn’t as striking as Fenris or as stunningly handsome as Zevran but he had an appeal to him that Dorian had never been able to deny. He was a warrior and it showed on his face, scars marred his skin. The long one that followed his jawline on the left side of his face was old, received when he was young after an aravel accident that had sliced his jaw open, the right side of his face contained a long curved scar on his cheek and the scars on the right side of his lower lip. Both from the bear attack nearly 20 years ago. The slash down his left eye was recent though, it was deep and ugly, a product from a challenge a year ago. He had more scars under the armor on his back and chest from the same bear and his left arm still hurt when it was cold; it had been broken when the bear shattered his shield in one powerful strike.

Balian was a bit shy and tried his best not to look at Dorian because it would probably result in his will faltering. He hadn’t seen him in so long, too long but he couldn’t just run up to him and fall into his arms.

“Surely you remember Ser Balian,” Sebastian stated and the sound of his named snapped him out of his longing for his lover. He stepped forward to Khrystabel; she was his clansman he grew up with her. He was a hunter and a protector and she was the Clan’s First. When he knew her she’d had hair as black as coal, now it was a beautiful snowy white and her vallaslin was gone. There was a lot of pain in her life a most of it was centered on her former lover, Solas.

“Andaran atish’an, Lethallan,” Balian greeted stepping forward with a smile and a bow of his head. Dorian stood on the sidelines and smiled inwardly, Balian didn’t talk much but when he did his voice was smooth and kind and Dorian could listen to it all day. He was from the Free Marches but had picked up a soft Starkhaven accent over the years. He also looked even better in his armor then he’d remembered. The silverite armor was weathered and tarnished as was the chainmail below, the tunic beneath was faded, his traveling armor was just a tough as the day it was made but it was more comfortable and broke in than his formal armor.

Khrys grinned; she grew up with Balian although he was a few years younger than her, he was always an exceptional warrior. Sebastian had made him his Champion and she couldn’t be prouder of her clansman. “Balian,” she said and embraced her clansmen in a hug. “It’s good to see you again.” Balian hadn’t changed much, he bulked up and filled out over the years but it was still the same old Balian.

“You also,” he replied as he glanced over at Dorian who hadn’t moved from his position. Dorian was always a handsome sight and he felt his ears get hot again. Damn the blushing. He grumbled to himself and nodded to Dorian without taking his eyes off him. “Dorian.”

A smile spread across Dorian’s face as he moved closer to them. The best way to drive the Elf mad was to subtlety flirt with him. “Balian,” he replied his voice just deep enough to be sensual for Balian. Watching him squirm was its own reward. It had been nearly a year since they last saw each other. Balian’s throat went dry and he gulped regaining his composure as Dorian purposely passed close to him. He straightened and took a step back trying his best to ignore his lover. “Welcome back to Skyhold…I just can’t wait to see what fireworks you have in store this time.”

Michel resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he and Balian stood beside one another. The two Champions, Balian wasn’t a Chevalier but nevertheless Michel would prefer not to fight him, he was a master…a natural talent.

“Dorian,” Khrys scolded.

“Oh, my apologies, I just can’t wait to see what fireworks you have in store this time, Highness,” Dorian repeated and Khrys rolled her eyes to his bluster. “I seem to remember a shouting match and promises of hellfire and damnation in front of the entire Council the minute you saw Anders…can’t wait to see that hellfire and damnation.”

“Dorian,” she warned again and nearly snickered to Sebastian’s expression. “Yes, Sebastian, Anders is here and we don’t need a repeat of the last meeting.”

Sebastian had a fantastic poker face but Balian could see the anger burn in him at the mention of Anders’ name. “I will conduct myself better this time, Herald, you have my word.”

Dorian cocked his head and laughed, proving that he trended toward the flamboyant. “Isn’t that what you said the first time you were invited to one of these?” Dorian asked in an amused tone.

Sebastian looked from Dorian to Khrys and conceded. “I serve Andraste and her Herald, her will is mine and my sword is hers for as long as I live,” he stated, repeating the pledge that he did so many years before.

Dorian rolled his eyes, pious bastard. _“Kiss ass,”_ he mumbled but it registered in his ears. “Oh damn it,” he cursed, at least under his breath this time. Sebastian heard him and so did Khrys earning him ‘the look’ from her. He wasn’t married to her but at times it sure felt like it, especially when he was stupid enough to haul off and call a major Inquisition ally a ‘kiss ass’ out loud in his presence. Honestly, he was surprised that Khrys hadn’t killed him yet in 17 years. He also saw Balian’s look, an almost amused slightly surprised one.

Balian looked from Dorian to Sebastian hoping that the Prince didn’t order him to kill him; that would definitely be one order he wouldn’t follow. Fortunately, Sebastian simply chuckled lightly and returned his attention to Khrys and reiterated that he would be on his best behavior this time.

Balian looked around the chamber that Sebastian had been given. There was no danger and the Prince heard him sigh tiredly. Balian would stand guard all night if left to it, he was devoted to Sebastian. The Prince saved his life at Wycome and his Clan and he’d protected them for all this time, making sure no one trifled with the city that was effectively under Elven control. Wycome was the only city that was pretty much run by Elves.

Sebastian was a truly great man; many believed him a tyrant for taking control of half of the Free Marches but Sebastian did what he had to do to prevent the city-states from erupting into war with each other, another war that Thedas didn’t need. With the exception of Kirkwall, the Free Marches were relatively quiet now; Markham was the fight where his life changed. That was where he championed Sebastian in a duel against the Lord of Markham. Sebastian had been injured in the battle so Balian accepted the challenge on the Prince’s behalf. Balian handedly defeated the Lord and became Sebastian’s champion afterward, he didn’t become his personal guard until a year later and now Balian was a knight and titled the Champion of Starkhaven. Many bristled at the thought of a Dalish Elf being given so much power and influence over the Prince but Sebastian trusted him completely.

“There’s nothing more for you to do, Balian, you should rest,” Sebastian said kindly and looked at him, he couldn’t hide that he was tired and would rather be somewhere else, with someone else. “Go on…I know you’ve missed him.”

Balian blinked not sure what the Prince meant by that. His relationship with Dorian wasn’t a secret but Balian wasn’t the type of man to go and shout it from the rooftops. At court in Starkhaven, Balian was focused and private even though Sebastian’s wife, Evelyn, had tried to find a match for the knight but he always declined, so when Balian fell in love with Dorian Sebastian gave his blessing. “Umm…” he managed but shook his head to his less than eloquent response.

Sebastian chuckled softly. “Go, Balian.”

Balian bowed to his Prince and left, quietly closing the door before moving with purpose to Dorian’s chambers on the other side of Skyhold.

**

Dorian looked over his shoulder as he heard the door to his chamber close behind him. Now it was his turn to blush, it was Balian. He hadn’t seen him in nearly a year but he hadn’t changed. They met years ago when Sebastian came to Skyhold with an Elf from Khrysabel’s clan. Balian had a charm to him and was noble to a fault. Quiet and shy at first but then humorous and friendly when he was comfortable. He took a shine to Dorian almost immediately and the feeling was mutual but it took time for them to become intimate, nearly two years but most of that was due to a country being between them. That changed five years ago when Sebastian and his envoy got snowed into Skyhold for nearly a month. That was the first time they’d shared a night together, they shared several before they were able to dig themselves out of the Fortress.

Balian clasped his hands behind his back and looked Dorian’s shirtless well defined body up and down. “Well, you get better looking every time I see you,” he complimented and Dorian blushed madly, blessing the light of the fire as it hid the redness in his cheeks and ears.

“As do you, Ser Balian; Champion of Starkhaven,” Dorian replied with a smirk. “that title never gets old.”

Balian snorted and stepped toward him to embrace in a kiss. This was all Balian had been thinking about for the longest time, he would gladly serve the Inquisition but serving the man who saved his life was something he felt that he was honor bound to do. Sebastian had been good to him and his clan so he would continue to serve until his debt was paid. He liked Starkhaven but he liked Dorian more.

He could feel Dorian’s hands hunting for the buckles holding his armor in place letting various pieces clatter to the floor to the muffled chuckling of Balian. He removed his hands from Dorian’s waist pulling his gauntlets off letting his lover pull the rest of his armor off. Dorian stepped away from him as Balian pulled his shirt off leaving him in trousers and greaves.

Dorian took in the sight of him as he watched Balian remove the rest of his armor. He had a warrior’s physique, just the right amount of muscle blemished by the scars of battle and his infamous bear fight. Bearkiller, that’s what Starkhaven called him, the Elves called him something more elegant Mi’harellan translated into trickster blade. Three long lines from a bear’s claw stretched from his right collarbone to his sternum and the almost perfect impression of the bear’s jaws scarred his left shoulder. The beast tried to rip his head off but Balian stuck a dagger through its eye. His left arm had a noticeable swollen looking deformity a quarter of the way up his forearm, where the bones broke like kindling, it didn’t affect his normal movement but it did pain him greatly sometimes. He had a few other scars from battles here and there but nothing half as impressive as his Bear scars.

“What are you staring at?” Balian asked noticing that Dorian was indeed staring at him as he readied himself for bed.

“You,” he replied with a smile. “Come to bed, amatus.”

Balian didn’t question and tried not to seem like an adolescent bounding into Dorian’s bed but his excitement was hard to hide. “As you wish, My Lord,” he chuckled.

**

Balian slept like a rock, to be perfectly honest he was probably exhausted after the journey from Starkhaven and the active night, thanks to Dorian, but he had noticed that he could sleep through a siege. He didn’t snore, something Dorian appreciated as it was a blessed change from Iron Bull. Not that there was anything wrong with Bull as a lover but that relationship was effectively over. Dorian was happy with Balian but he still shied away from the public legitimate commitment, Balian knew he loved him and let Dorian do as he wanted.

Dorian kissed the scar on his upper back, the lower jaw of the bear. Balian’s favorite ‘I’m exhausted, let me sleep’ sleeping position was on his stomach. Dorian liked to think that it was a safeguard against Dorian otherwise ‘messing’ with him, at least too much. He gently traced his fingers over the scarred tissue; the attack was years ago but the scars made it look recent, he couldn’t imagine what they looked like new. Balian was an exceptionally strong and tough man as Dorian couldn’t even imagine living through that. He’d told him once that he remembered the whole encounter in vivid detail, all of it, the fear, the pain, the adrenalin, slaying the beast and praying to the gods for a rescue as he tried his best to patch himself up and crawl back to camp. Occasionally he had a nightmare or woke up terrified in a sweat, reliving the crystal clear memories. The nightmares were to be expected, no one could come away from a horror like that without some kind of issue, and he didn’t fear bears now, but would most definitely not deal with them. He spent two days missing, bleeding and dying slowly until a human merchant found him barely alive. She saved his life and returned him to the Clan; to this day he never uses the word ‘shemlen’ in a derogatory way.

Balian’s back was strong and smooth with only the scars from the bite and one from an arrow on his lower right side. He heard the warrior moan into his pillow making it sound more like a muffled purr. Balian liked having his back rubbed and it caused him to stir under Dorian’s hand. The warrior carried all his tension in his back, he was smaller than most warriors so he had to work twice as hard, carried a heavier shield and as a result, was unbelievably strong. When his arm hurt he favored it, which translated into a lot of soreness in his back and shoulders. He turned his head to the left to look at him, now officially awake. “Oh, that feels good.”

Dorian chuckled lightly. “How is it that I’m the so-called ‘pampered’ noble and you’re the one who wants the back rubs all the time?”

Balian closed his eyes as Dorian’s hands ran up and down his back. “Because you’re good with your hands,” he answered lazily as he felt the tension leaving his muscles.

Dorian snorted. “So are you…if last night was anything to go by,” he smirked kissing his shoulder.

Balian groaned with a chuckle. “That is not what I meant, you dirty old man.”

Dorian laughed and gave Balian’s ass a light smack. “Old? Who are you calling old?”

“Older than me,” he replied and gave up the idea of sleep for now and rolled over on to his back adjusting the furs, Skyhold was colder than Starkhaven, and Dorian leaned in for a kiss. Balian purred in approval as his lover abandoned his lips and kissed his neck before trailing down to his chest the rest of his scars clearly visible. He moaned softly to the feel of Dorian’s lips and hands on his skin. He missed this; he loved serving Sebastian but truly missed Dorian. Balian moved his hands to Dorian’s waist and moved them up his side over his shoulders and cupped his face drawing him back up to his lips wrapping his arms around the mage and rolling him onto his back.

A loud knocking on the door ruined the mood as Dorian growled loudly against Balian’s groan before the warrior flopped over onto his back. “I hate whoever that is,” the Elf announced.

Dorian rousted out of bed with a growl and put some clothes on leaving Balian in bed while he answered the door. The elf pulled the blankets up over his chest and rubbed his face.  
“What?!” He heard Dorian bark sharply making Balian sit up to look at him at the door. “Yes, yes, I’ll be out later.”

Balian recognized his tone and started to worry, quickly pulling on his trousers when he heard the door slam and Dorian returned to his view. “What’s wrong?” he asked seeing Dorian rather pissed off.

“That Orlesian bastard,” He hissed pacing as everything about what was going on with his daughter returned in a rush, it had been forgotten in the presence of Balian.

“What?” he asked again.

“Gaspard offered his son to marry Bree and saw fit to bring him to the Council meeting,” he snarled frustrated. “Duncan was invited but Jean-Fredric was not. Orlesian bastard was always too bold with Khrys.”

“Dorian, relax,” he said soothingly and Dorian glared at him.

“Why does everyone tell me to relax? You’re starting to sound like Khrys and Fenris,” Dorian spat and Balian got out of bed moving around it to stop him from pacing. “Don’t tell me to relax.”

“Alright, alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he said and put his hands on his shoulders stopping him. “Stop. Who cares if he’s here, nothing happens with Bree unless you allow it.”

“So I can alienate her by telling who she can and can’t marry?” he said and Balian sighed.

“At the risk of you barking at me again, please relax,” he said sounding close to begging. “I know this scares you but release your grip, relax, and see what happens. Khrys is here and so am I, I certainly won’t let anything bad happen to Bree…ever.”

Dorian relented and put a hand on the back of Balian’s head pressing his forehead to his. “I am glad you’re here, amatus,” he said quietly.

“I just want to make sure you don’t have a heart seizure before I’m finished with you,” he joked knowing that Dorian would chuckle at the humor, trying to lighten the mood. “Because I’m not finished with you…”

**

Being at Skyhold usually meant that Balian could relax in his guard of Sebastian but he still checked in before doing anything else. After his several morning trysts with Dorian he checked in with his Prince to find him praying as he did every morning. It was hard for Balian to fathom that the very adept war strategist and leader was a Chantry brother for many years. The differences in their religions never factored into their professional relationship though Sebastian did try to convert him a few times, but that went both ways. Balian knew the pious Prince would never accept anything other than Andrasitan but that didn’t mean he couldn’t educate the Prince on religions other than his own. As devout at Sebastian was to Andraste, Balian was to his own Gods. Whatever Gods they prayed to they trusted each other with their lives.

“Good morning, Highness,” Balian greeted more like an announcement, from behind him. Two of the other Starkhaven guards stood outside the door waiting.

Sebastian finished his line of the Chant and turned slightly on one knee to look back at him. “Balian, good morning,” he replied politely and rose to his feet. “You appear well rested. I trust you had a good night.”

Balian smiled slightly and nodded trying not to blush. “I did, thank you,” he said, Sebastian’s views on sex and lovers was extremely traditional but he didn’t force that opinion on Balian once he realized that the Elf didn’t care which fare he had in his bed.

“You don’t often get to relax and have a ‘day off’,” Sebastian stated walking up to his champion. “You’re always there, day and night guarding my back. Take the day to do what you please; you don’t have to check in on me. See your friends you have here and spend time with Dorian.”

Balian hesitated a little but smiled, a day to relax and spend time with Dorian sounded great to him. “Thank you, My Prince,” he bowed lingering for a moment as the idea of having a ‘day off’ was foreign to him.

“Unless you want to stay and sing the Chant…I know you’ve memorized parts of it,” Sebastian teased.

“Only if you want to hear more Elven prayer,” he countered hearing him chuckle in response. On his way out the door he couldn’t stop himself and turned to the guard on his right. “If anything happens find me.”

“Yes, Ser Balian.” Dalish Elf or not Balian was the head of Sebastian’s guard, a hard fought respect it was, but Balian now had the final say in anything that had to do with the Prince’s safety.

**

Skyhold was colder than Starkhaven, while it wasn’t bone chilling cold right now during the day the mountains were just cold enough to make Balian’s once shattered arm ache. As Champion, his battered arm could threaten his station but Sebastian ignored it. The Elf impressed him at Markam and had been as loyal as anyone ever could be. He placed himself in danger for him on a daily basis and never once asked for anything. No title, no station, no lands, just an enduring promise to keep his Clan safe, a promise Sebastian had already made to Khrystabel. Mostly, his arm simply ached but never failed him in battle. The cold made the ache worse. In Starkhaven he had an Herbalist tend to him and that Herbalist had given him herbs to help any discomfort…unfortunately he’d burned through the stock he’d taken on the trip to Skyhold.

Skyhold had both an Herbalist and an Apothecary, he followed the directions to the second floor of the Quartermasters and found an Herbalist stocked from floor to ceiling of herbs and spices. He liked the smell of an Herbalists’ shop; the aroma of dried herbs reminded him of home, not Starkhaven but the Clan.

There was no one in the shop that he could see but heard rustling upstairs, he pulled his right glove off and picked through some drying herbs that perked his curiosity.

“Oh…” a woman said coming down the steps carrying a basket. “I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you come in.”

Balian turned at the sound of her voice and looked her up and down. She was small, about 5’4” with a thin build and long dark hair with expressive brown eyes. She was a pretty thing that was without a doubt. She wore a simple green dress and leather necklace with a carved wooden thistle pendant. “It’s alright,” Balian replied and gave her a respectful bow. “I’m-…"

“Balian Lavellan, the Starkhaven Prince’s Champion,” she stated quickly setting the basket down and looking at him intently. “The one with the legend-mark.”

Balian had heard the term legend-mark but wasn’t clear on what it meant. “Legend-mark?”

“They call you Bearkiller, but you have two… the Dalish call you something else…umm…Mi’Harel…?”

“Harellan,” he corrected looking at her with a curious expression. “Trickster Blade.” Technically he had three ‘Legend-marks’, the list kept growing.

She smiled and reached for his left arm, removing the gauntlet swiftly before he even knew what was going on. “How long has your arm hurt?” she asked and he blinked.

“Umm…” he blinked. “How did you...”

“The way you carry yourself…tension in your back and shoulders your left arm favored against your side, though you don’t realize it anymore. Years of discomfort has affected your posture. Do you get headaches? What am I saying, of course you’d have headaches, the tension in your back and shoulders would certainly give you neck pain and headaches,” she spouted quickly before glancing up at him seeing his furrowed brow. “I’m sorry…my husband’s a warrior…I’ve seen him through his aches and pains.”

Balian didn’t recoil and let her squeeze and test his forearm, she was an odd one. Fast talking, strange behavior, reminded him of a humming bird. “Who’s your husband?” he asked as she was clearly able to find where the damage occurred, he didn’t know everyone in Skyhold but he thought it better to strike up conversation with the woman who was currently feeling up his left arm.

“Thom Rainier,” she answered and Balian blinked. “I’m sorry…I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Birch.

“Thom’s married?” he question surprised. It had been over a year since he’d been to Skyhold but the last time he was there Thom wasn’t married. “Congratulations…Thom’s a good man, My Lady.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” she replied with a smile. “Now, does it hurt all the time or some of the time?”

“When it’s cold, mostly, sometimes in battle,” he answered. “An Herbalist in Starkhaven gives me an herbal mix to put in my tea…I ran out on the way here.” He said and squeezed her hand when she told him to. His grip was weaker than she’d expected but still strong enough.

“Simple enough,” she said confidently and gestured for him to sit as she began to rummage through her shelves and cabinets. Birch eyed the Dalish Elf quickly as she moved over to her table with handfuls of herbs. Scars littered his face proving the tales about him true. She’d know bear scars anywhere. “Those markings…they’re Dirthamen’s right? Your god of secrets…his favored animal is the Bear.”

Balian blinked not sure where she was going with that. He could venture a guess; he’d heard it before from his mother who also happened to be the clans Keeper. Dirthamen was his chosen God whose chosen animal was the bear; it didn’t take a huge leap to make connections about trials and blessings. “Yeah,” he answered suspiciously.

“My people would see your fight against a God’s favored animal as a test or a challenge. You survived and slayed the Bear thereby earning the blessing of your God,” she explained as she mixed several herbs in a mortar.

Balian scoffed. “Not much of a blessing…scars all over my face and body, a healthy respect…borderline fear of Bears an animal I once loved, and a ruined arm.”

Birch giggled. “Not ruined…just pained is all,” she replied and took the tea pot off the plate of embers keeping it warm, pouring the water into a cup then added a dose of the herbs to the water.

“You said ‘your people’, which ones?” he asked, she wasn’t an Elf, didn’t even look elf-blooded.

“I’m Avvar,” she replied proudly and Balian couldn’t help but snort. He’d never really dealt with Avvar but knew their fierce reputation.

“Well, that seems fitting,” he stated with a chuckle. “Thom seems the type to want strong and fierce women,” he added and thought about how that sounded. “No offense.”

Birch just smiled to him. “None taken. I’ve heard it before and it amuses me and Thom to an extent,” she said kindly and walked to him with the cup handing it to him. “Here, drink this, all of it…it should alleviate some of the pain.” She said and when he took the cup she went back to putting the dry mixture into a pouch for him to take along. “You should use a lighter shield, the one you have is far too heavy for your arm.”

Her tea was far bitterer than his other mix but he gulped it down. “What do you know of shield weight?” he asked but his tone wasn’t condescending.

“My father was a warrior, my husband’s a warrior and I tend to many others like you. You’re smaller than most warriors so you compensate by carrying a heavier shield but you do so also to protect your arm from further damage even it costs you more pain. You should carry a tower shield, not a great shield,” she offered and Balian cocked his head, oh he liked her. Most women he knew didn’t know the difference between a great shield or a formation shield, but she did.

Balian chuckled and stood setting the cup down on the table. “I like you, Mi’Lady Birch,” he said with a charming smile. “You say what’s on your mind. Thank you for this.”

“Do come back if you need more,” she replied quickly and started sifting through the basket she’d carried down with her going back to her work now that her tending to Balian was concluded.

**

Skyhold’s upper courtyard still had a training area between the armory and Quartermaster shop. When Balian came through there, no one knew that he knew was there. Now there was Thom and Michel looking like they were ready to practice or spar. After being snowed in for a month several years ago he got quite acquainted with them, the sparring, the card games, everything. The best thing about Skyhold was Dorian; the second best thing was card night with the guys.

Thom chuckled deeply seeing Balian approaching them. Balian didn’t have his shield with him but he was armed and in his armor. The man worked all the time but it appeared that he finally left Sebastian’s side. “There he is.”

“Thom,” Balian smiled and extended his hand to the big man he called his friend.

“Balian the Bear,” Thom replied and the Elf rolled his eyes, another moniker that people liked to call him. ‘Balian the Bear’ was a nickname given to him by Sebastian himself although there were wild rumors as to why.

“Don’t call me that,” he brushed off and Thom chuckled embracing him quickly.

“Why not…?” Thom replied as Balian took a step back from him, “it’s the only moniker you have I think suits you the best.”

“Pity we don’t know the true story of how you got it,” Michel added and Balian scoffed stepping over to clap him on the shoulder. “I heard it was the second time Sebastian sent you into Kirkwall to restore order.”

“Nah can’t be that…” Thom shook his head. “Remember that duel last year…that Kirkwall Captain that accused the Prince of genocide…I heard that was a fierce fight.”

Balian chuckled to them and shook his head with a snort. Nothing quite so fanciful. “You two are worse than the ladies at Starkhaven…I’ve heard everything from a fight to my exceptional prowess in bed,” he chuckled.

“Well, I suppose we should ask Dorian about that last one,” Thom laughed and Balian blushed uncontrollably. New topic was all that Balian could think of; he didn’t feel like discussing his romantic activities with his friends. Speaking of friends and their romantic activities he had a bone to pick with Thom.

“So, Thom…,” he began shifting his weight to his right leg and bracing his right hand against the hilt of his sword, “I met your wife. I’m sure my invitation just got lost in the mail.”

Thom stammered a little before shrugging off what he knew was coming at some point. “It was spur of the moment. No offense.”

“None taken…,” he replied. “She’s uhh…”

“Quirky?”

“I was going to stay high strung but quirky works,” he added and Thom actually laughed. “She narrowed everything wrong with my posture down to my once shattered arm.”

Thom chuckled, that he understood about her. “She did that with my shoulder,” he replied. “She was a healer in the Hold she grew up in and a damn good one. She’s knows her trade, whatever advice she gave you, you should heed it.”

“She told me to get a lighter shield,” Balian stated and both Michel and Thom looked at him and nodded.

“You should,” they both replied in near unison.

Balian narrowed his eyes at them. “There is nothing wrong with the weight of my shield.”

“You use a heavier shield to protect your arm, nothing more,” Thom stated and Balian grumbled, he was really tired of hearing that no matter how true it was.

He held his hands out to the side in an innocent fashion. “Alright fine, yes, I use a heavier shield to protect my arm but believe me I can wield it.”

Thom chuckled again at him, Balian may have been smaller than most warriors but he definitely didn’t want to trifle with him. There was a reason why he was Sebastian’s champion and undefeated in single combat. “Alright, well then, let’s see whose better, Balian the Bear, once and for all,” Thom said with a smile.

Balian sighed and narrowed his eyes to him; he didn’t like to spar much. To be perfectly honest sparring hurt sometimes especially when he was using lower quality training equipment but mostly he didn’t like to let people know what he could do. “Okay, fine…just because you keep calling me stuff like that, Michel, may I borrow that?”

Michel tossed him the blunted sword as Balian removed his sword from his hip passing it to blonde Chevalier. Balian’s sword was beautiful, custom made for him by Starkhaven smiths and given to him by Sebastian. It was a simple blade to reflect Balian’s taste. The flat sides of the blade had the Lavellan Clan crest and the Starkhaven seal respectively. It had a simple cross guard with a sharp spike on both ends and on the pommel. It had a hand and half handle, well balanced, and wrapped in soft leather. Michel stood and took a few practice swings with the weapon.

“I do love this sword, Balian,” Michel commented, impressed by the simple but elegant design.

Balian pushed a bench out of the way with his foot and looked over his shoulder to the Orlesian champion. “Too bad it’s mine, Michel,” he said snarkily as Michel clutched it to his chest like a child.

“Not right now it isn’t,” Michel sniped back.

“I’ll come get it if I have to,” Balian threatened, his tone dropping to play with him.

Michel returned his smirk. “Bring it on,” he replied matching his tone and making Balian laugh out loud. He was the one man in Skyhold that Balian was pretty sure he couldn’t beat. Michel was a legendary warrior, he paid the ‘disgraced’ part no mind and was honored with the trust Michel put in him to tell him the whole story. Michel’s elf blood was something he hid but Balian knew as soon as he looked at him, same with King Alistair.

Balian returned his attention to Thom and sighed resigning himself to a sparring match. The shield he had was wooden and for practice so he made the conscious effort to avoid a hit. The best way to do that was attack first, and the fight was on.

Thom had seen Balian fight enough time to know some of his favored behavior in combat. He always led with his sword, whether it was to block or to attack, there was no doubt that his left arm was his weakest point, however, getting to that arm to exploit it was the tricky part.

It wasn’t long before they had an audience, even Cullen paused to watch, and he folded his arms across his chest and watched the match. Thom was an exceptional warrior, Cullen had issues with Thom’s past but he wiped the slate clean when Thom stood and fought with them. Balian was widely known as the best warrior in the Free Marches, he was very aggressive and crafty and it showed in his fighting style. He was a warrior who employed dirty tricks to get the upper hand and Cullen watched as he tried to trip Thom twice but the veteran warrior was able to avoid them.

Thom blocked a slash and hit the Elf was a reduced power shield bash knocking him back but Balian kept his feet and was able to block Thom’s powerful attack and skitter out of the way causing the sparring session to spill out of the little area they started in. Clattering of swords and shields drew more people to watch, including Thom’s wife. Birch came to stand next to Cullen and observe.

Wooden shield or not, Balian had considerable power behind his hits. Thom shook his head sharply trying to shake the stun off after Balian missed his mark and clocked him in the jaw. They were both starting to pant, but having fun to be honest. “Nice hit,” Thom complimented wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.

Balian shrugged, he didn’t mean to hit him there. “Sorry,” he apologized and the combat recommenced.

Thom charged and hit Balian like a raging bull; the smaller warrior planted his feet and skidded back like he was holding back a tide. He held his ground and bounced off Thom’s shield a few times to get as much leverage as possible then mustered his deceptive strength and shoved him with a ferocious roar knocking Thom flat on his back.

Thom grunted as landed on his back and saw Balian standing over him with his sword to Thom’s neck. It was official, Balian won. “You’re stronger than you look,” he commented from flat on his back.

Balian chuckled and offered his hand to help him to his feet. “Benefits of the heavier shield,” he replied and Thom chuckled.

**

Balian sighed and tended to the scrapes he’d earned while sparring with his armor was off leaving just his tunic on. He worked his left hand and examined it; Thom took it easy on him and didn’t aim for the weak spot.

The door closed behind him and he glanced over his shoulder, he knew who it was, these were his chambers after all. Dorian eyed him critically and enjoyed the sight. Balian was a good looking, a little smaller and skinnier than he was typically attracted to, but he more than made up for it.

“Sorry,” Balian began; “Khrys didn’t assign me a room.” he finished with a snort.

Dorian knew why, besides the fact that Skyhold was nearly full to capacity; it forced Balian into Dorian’s chambers. Dorian of course didn’t mind, he’d keep Balian here all the time if the Elf would accept. “I think she’s trying to tell us something,” Dorian snorted. “I saw you sparring with Thom.”

Balian turned to face smirking at him. “Did you like what you saw?”

Dorian grinned, looking him up and down. “Well, I always like watching you fight,” he stated and moved closer to him. Balian’s chuckle in response made Dorian growl and pull him toward him in a hard kiss. Dorian was pleased to find him in only his tunic and not the armor; it was easier to take off. “Oh, I love it when you’re here,” he moaned after Balian broke from his kiss and nipped at his neck.

Laying there after their mid-day romp in a mess of blankets, Balian dozed feeling as content as a cat in the sun. He had who he had been dreaming about for year and was happy, there on his back with his left arm crooked around Dorian resting comfortably next to him. Dorian gently rubbed his left forearm and if Balian could purr he would. It always felt good when he did that, somehow it seemed to ease the dull ache in precariously mended bones.

Dorian was thinking, nearly lost in thought, he was thinking of what Khrys had said, Balian would stay if he asked him to. He’d done so and Balian had said no, his service to Sebastian was the most annoying thing about him. Not that he served him, it was that he would serve him until Sebastian dismissed him but he wouldn’t ask.

“Are you alright?” Balian asked quietly without opening his eyes, he could just feel the vibe coming off him. Dorian wasn’t as relaxed as he was.

Dorian hesitated in response but Balian was as patient as they came. “You could stay here in Skyhold, Bail,” he said finally and Balian opened his eyes staring up at the ceiling. They had been through this already and it sucked then, it was going to be even worse now.

Balian sighed heavily but didn’t move. “Dorian,” he began and dreaded the next words; it got harder and harder each time. “I can’t,” he finished.

Dorian tried his best to keep his frustration under wraps; Balian could understand the frustration and didn’t hold it against him. He sat up sharply and glared down at him. “Why not?” he asked but his tone showed some of his frustration.

Balian closed his eyes and sighed again. “Because I owe Sebastian a substantial debt,” he said, his tone even and still relaxed despite the heavy sigh. “He saved my life twice, he saved my clan, and that includes my mother.”

Dorian’s frustration turned to irritation and it finally let go. “Why?!” he barked loudly as he stormed out of bed and rushed into his trousers so he could argue with at least some dignity. “He doesn’t own you and you don’t owe him anymore than you have already given him!”

Dorian’s tone was raised with frustration and irritation but not anger, he wasn’t mad at him per say, he was annoyed. He sat up and calmly spoke. “Dorian-…” he started before Dorian cut him off.

“How long are you expecting to serve him?” he questioned firmly.

“For as long as he deems my service necessary,” the Elf answered but both his answer and the calm, even tone only added more to the mage’s aggravation.

“Damnit, Balian, I don’t ask people to stay here with me lightly,” he snapped and his tone became a little more desperate. “I can’t handle going so long without seeing you.”

“Then come to Starkhaven,” he replied impulsively and promptly closed his eyes able to hear Dorian’s response before he even thought it.

Dorian cocked his head sharply at him, an arrogant sarcastic look on his face. “Yes, because that, Amatus, is logistically possible,” he snapped harshly. “Let’s move the Tevinter ambassador to the Inquisition to Starkhaven, because that makes sense,” he mocked, his temper building the more he ranted. “I have a _family_ here, Balian, one that I would enjoy you being a part of but you continue to refuse the offer.”

The warrior decided that this was enough, nothing was getting solved and Dorian was getting angrier and angrier. “Dorian,” he said simply trying to get him to stop.

Dorian ignored him. “I don’t know exactly how I should take that…maybe you just enjoy the random rendezvous for just what they are,” he continued and succeeded in only offending Balian.

Balian’s own frustration reared its head and he swung off the bed pulling his clothes on in record time. “You know what, Dorian, perhaps you should consider someone other than yourself for once,” he scolded tugging his boots on.

Dorian blinked as Balian ran his hand through his mussed hair and headed for the door. His rant went blank. “Where are you going?” he asked and Balian scoffed.

“To the Tavern,” he hissed back, yes he was frustrated, irritated, and annoyed but he did love Dorian. “I’ll be back later, hopefully when you’ve cooled off and I’ve had a drink.”

Balian looked over his shoulder at him but didn’t wait for a response before he closed the door hard and disappeared from Dorian’s chambers.

 _That son of a bitch just left in the middle of an argument._ Dorian, annoyed with everything, now sent a small fireball at the stone wall leaving a decent sized scorch mark. He was now left to pace in his room muttering strings of curses in Tevene. Leave it to him to fall in love with the most frustrating man he’d ever met.

Balian entered Herald’s Rest and was met by the pungent aroma of sweat and ale, at least the Bard was good; she had a beautiful voice…Anitvan by the sound of her accent. Balian scrunched his nose at the smell as if he was getting used to it. He walked further into the tavern and crossed to the bar. He was still irritated with Dorian and managed to block out the tavern noise until a familiar voice cut through the silence in his head.

“Balian Lavellan.” He heard from the cute red head from behind the bar, she grinned broadly at him and he returned her smile. Ariel was Cullen’s wife and a fiery woman; she was kind and friendly but took no shit, perfect for running a tavern. She was about 5’6”, with a mop of thick curly red hair, green eyes, and a beautiful smile. “What am I, your last stop?” she sniped and he shrugged.

“I save the best for last,” he replied with a flirty grin as she pushed herself up on the bar leaning over to get a greeting kiss on the cheek. “You look amazing,” he said as she fished around behind the bar for a tankard and poured him some ale.

“So do you,” she replied and looked him up and down as he picked up the tankard taking a swig. She canted her head and smirked with a giggle. “Someone’s had some fun,” she stated gesturing to the very noticeable hickey on the left side of his neck.

Balian’s brow furrowed trying to figure out what she was talking about. “Huh?” he asked and she giggled again.

“Dorian got you pretty good…must have been fun,” she explained and he figured out what she was talking about and blushed. Loud laughter came from the second level and he looked up to see what it was. “Boys have a card game,” she informed. “Do me a favor…take this up to them.”

Balian nodded and took the pitcher that she handed him. The card game was a staple at Skyhold, it happened at least once a week always in the same place. Around the table were Thom, Michel, Fenris, and Cullen that knew and a couple he recognized. There were two other men, teenagers, also sitting at the table one of them was familiar…the Prince of Fereldan.

“Hey,” Thom greeted seeing him, “he finally found a job that suits him.” he teased and chuckled as Balian approached with the pitcher.

Balian shook his head at the friendly ribbing and pulled up a chair to sit in on the game. It surprised him to see Alistair there talking with none other than Anders, Sebastian would hit the roof if he saw him here. “Not sure if you remember, but this is Malcolm…and that’s Duncan,” Thom introduced but Balian did remember. He remembered both of them Duncan was the Prince of Fereldan and Malcolm was Malcolm Hawke, Anders’ son.

“So where is Dorian at the moment?” Michel asked.

Balian didn’t want to talk about that right now, in fact he’d rather forget the squabble for now. “Probably cussing me out in Tevene right now,” Balian replied plainly.

Most of the players’ brow’s furrowed. They knew of the relationship between them and his statement confused them. “Say what?” Michel asked and Balian took a swig of ale.  
“We are not talking about that,” he stated firmly and cleared his throat. “Who’s deal?”

It was Fenris’ deal, not many people knew much about Fenris, and there were a select few that could say that the Elf enjoyed Tevinter wine, grapes, apples, and cards. Of course Anders, Tess, and Varric knew far more than that about him but the common knowledge for everyone was that the Lyrium Warrior liked cards.

Anders eyed him, he knew who he was, and in fact they’d met several times. “Balian Lavellan,” Anders said refilling his cup with more ale before he sat back down. “You have a new scar every time I see you,” he commented and Balian simply organized the cards in his hand. “Perhaps you should learn to duck.”

Thom scoffed at the statement and he looked at the deplorable hand that Fenris had dealt him. “Really, Fenris?” he questioned and the Elf actually cracked a half smile. “He may look like he’s been through a meat grinder but at least he’s never lost,” he commented and the table snorted.

Anders didn’t let it go, as pissed off as Sebastian was at him after all this time Anders had the same feelings toward Sebastian. The Prince waged all-out war on the mages following the explosion at Kirkwall. “Sebastian’s loyal bodyguard,” he hissed voice full of distain. “tell me, Balian, would you kill me?” he prodded but Balian’s demeanor remained unchanged.

“Skyhold is sanctuary,” he replied simply but Anders chuckled mockingly.

Anders knew that, and had a feeling that Balian was going to be one of those tough ones to get a rise out of. “Right but let’s say we meet on the road…knowing who I am would you kill me?” he questioned and Balian only sighed.

Balian’s eyes remained on his cards. “If Sebastian ordered me to, yes,” he responded, his casual tone was almost frightening.

Alistair looked between them trying to gage where this was going. “So you’d kill me for something I never did to you because of something I did to your master 20 years ago,” Anders clarified.

Balian’s answer was the same. “If he ordered me to,” He answered again and dropped two cards face down as Fenris dealt him two new ones.

Anders had to admire his devotion, to a point anyway. “Knowing my crime…would you kill me?” he pressed and Balian huffed.

“If you keep yapping, then yes,” he answered clearly irritated with the mage now. “Three drakes.”

The table seemed like it deflated and they all groaned. “Damnit, how do you do that?” Thom asked and Balian simply chuckled at the lightening round that he just won. This wasn’t the first time he’d done that, he had an uncanny ability to win hands right off the bat, good for him but annoying as hell for everyone else.

Malcolm and Duncan looked at each other and dropped their cards. “He does that often?” Malcolm asked and Thom answered.

“All the time,” he answered with a snort. “Still the luckiest bastard I’ve ever met.”

Cullen scoffed. “Not so fast…” he began. “I think I figured out his tell.”

Thom shook his head. “Oh no, Commander, don’t you remember the last time you thought you figured out someone’s tell?” he asked reminding him of an embarrassing night that, to be perfectly honest, he’d rather forget. “You lost your clothes, all of them, to Josie.”

“You what?” Cullen heard a woman say from behind him, it was Ariel and he groaned loudly.

“He thought he’d figured out Josie’s tell and she took every scrap of clothing he had on him…made him streak back to the barracks like a low full moon,” Thom explained, either not seeing or ignoring Cullen’s gestures to get him to stop talking. “Everyone knows that one.”

The table bellowed with laughter and Cullen’s face turned the color of a beet, though no one was certain if that was anger or embarrassment. “ _Now_ everybody knows, Captain Rainier,” he hissed at the Free Marcher. Even Ariel was laughing by now, she could play cards, they all knew that and the fact that she had no idea of her husband’s prior turn of Strip Wicked Grace made it that much funnier.

Balian smirked. “Please, Commander, do tell…what are my tells? I’d be curious to know what you look like under all that armor,” he flirted blatantly causing Cullen to turn even redder.

**

Dorian had his own drink, a bottle of Tevinter Red that he was halfway through. It would take far more than that to get him drunk but he didn’t feel like sleeping. He was still irritated with Balian and irritated with himself for coming apart like that. Seated at the table with his right leg propped up on the chair he downed the rest of the glass and debated on pouring another one. The door opened before he made his decision. Balian.

He was still a welcome sight and he came back, just as he said he would. He closed the door and walked toward the bed removing his shirt as he went. “What are you still doing up?” he asked his voice one of concern.

Dorian sighed and decided not to have another glass of wine. “Waiting for you,” he answered and looked up at him. “I’m sorry I blew up like that,” he said quietly and Balian stopped, looking over at him.

Balian shook his head; he was a little tipsy and tried not to sway. “I shouldn’t have left like that…I’m sorry,” he sighed and his balance swayed.

Dorian stood. “Are you drunk?” he asked his tone actually amused.

Balian sat down on the bed with another sigh. “Umm…” he began and flopped back. “yes…definitely drunk.”

Dorian chuckled at him, Balian didn’t get drunk often and it made him laugh. Balian usually stopped himself before he went beyond tipsy… he was a not a mean drunk but he was a violent one, hence the nickname ‘Balian the Bear’. Sebastian gave it to him when he had to contain his bodyguard after he had far too much to drink one night. “Alright, amatus, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Balian grabbed Dorian’s hand and yanked him toward the bed and on top of him; Dorian didn’t protest and fell into his embrace. Whatever the argument it could wait until later, he didn’t want to fight with him…he didn’t even like arguing with him. This could all wait until the morning.


	7. Shindig

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Seven: Shindig

 

Bree’s birthday showed up the same way it had for 16 years; with breakfast in bed. Dorian doted on his daughter. Bought her gifts, horses, trinkets, and clothes but on her birthday as it had been for years before today she was delivered her favorite breakfast by her parents. Khrys actually took over the kitchen to prepare it as well. Bree had grown up knowing that her family wasn’t anything like those of Malcolm’s or even Cullen’s brats, her family was different, she’d always known that. When she got older she was made to understand that Daddy wasn’t married to Mommy and even share her bed. She didn’t understand fully until Balian and Dorian had begun their relationship, but by then it wasn’t an issue. Before Balian there was Bull so it didn’t factor for her, it never had, and it never would. On her birthday though, it was the one time that it actually felt like they were the traditional family not the ‘blended extended mess’ Malcolm called it.

One look at Khrys and Dorian together and even a halfwit could tell that they loved each other deeply but the love wasn’t sexual or intimate. Oh, sure, they flirted and teased each other until they were blue in the face but that was the extent of it. When she was five months pregnant her mother got so sick she nearly died of the fever, as the story went, Dorian never left her side for nearly three days as Anders proved his worth as a healer and saved her life.

As much as Bree loved Michel and Balian, it was nice to have it just be the three of them, and every year on her birthday she got just that; Mama and Daddy and breakfast. Michel and Balian knew better than to pitch a fit so both of them honored Bree’s wishes and weren’t offended.

**

Skyhold was busy, really busy, the last time the Fortress saw this much activity was during the War, since then it had been fairly quiet even with Council Meetings. This was the first time a meeting landed in disguise, or by simpler terms, coincided with another event. Members of the Council mixed in with people invited to Bree’s ‘Debutant Ball’ made for a madhouse.

To make matters worse, this was a formal event. Josephine took the plans and ran with it creating a formal gathering to make this not only proper but tastefully elegant, as only she could deliver. If Dorian had his way, his daughter would be locked away in a tower so no one could come calling. ‘If they don’t know she exists, no one will show up.’ He liked to say but that only got him dirty looks from Khrys and his daughter.

Everyone was in their finest clothes. Dorian was in a tasteful and dashing highever weave and silk get up that really made him look good. It didn’t matter which company he preferred, Dorian’s appeal worked on woman as well as men. Fenris was another one people drooled over, his official position next to top agent was Khrys’ personal guard, and he was in an all-black tunic with intricate silver Elven patterns on the collar and sleeves. His right hand was also encased in a silverite gauntlet, the whole thing was lyrium infused and crafted like his spiked armor so when he engaged his unique talent he didn’t faze right out of his clothes. Black was Fenris’ color, even Dorian couldn’t help but stare sometimes. The sharp black and the silver pattern contrasted nicely with his sun-kissed skin, lyrium lines, and white hair. He may have been in formal attire but he wasn’t there to mingle, he was there to protect Khrys. Unarmed, but Fenris didn’t need a weapon to do damage.

Khrys nervously smoothed the waist of her gown as she made her way down the steps from her chambers. She’d elected to dress it up this time rather than wear her usual Inquisition tunic that she wore to the Council Meetings. This was a formal party after all so she kept up the appearance. It felt nice to glam it up on occasion. Sometimes she felt like all she ever did was fight and bark orders, hopefully tonight was going to be peacefully boring.

As she was making her way down Michel was heading up and they met in the hall between the two doors. He froze in mid step and felt his heart started to race. She was gorgeous to put it mildly. Her gown was simple with a flowing skirt and long sleeves. The color was appealing too, a pretty gold color with a lace up bodice; it had white laces and tasteful elven embroidery that matched the white of the laces. Her hair was gathered up into some kind of bun and secured in a way Michel didn’t know. She had a lot of long, thick hair, how she managed to get all of it into a bun was something he’d never understand. It left her neck and shoulders bare, he liked that. The only jewelry she wore was the silver necklace that had the Lover’s Knot on it, hers to match his, and it settled just under the low rounded collar of the dress.

Michel gulped as he stared at her for a few long, lingering moments. Khrys giggled and the sound made him blink and come back to his senses. “What?” he heard her ask as he continued to look at her unable to figure out how to speak.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Khrystabel,” he said recovering well enough from his dumbfounded look.

face tinged red as she blushed at his words, her smile was bright and she giggled a little trying not to feel embarrassed by the fact that they weren’t alone. Her Templars could hear every word. She couldn’t help but examine him in the same manner. He seemed somewhat underdressed as he wore the Inquisition tunic but it didn’t diminish the Chevalier one bit. Black looked good on him and he was always a head turner. Women swooned to his blonde hair, kind heart, the accent, even to his scars…the souvenirs from Gaspard. But it Khrys the best of it all…Michel was all hers. She purred in approval as he offered her his hand. “My handsome Chevalier, black suits you, Vhenan,” she praised and he snorted as she hooked her arm around his left.

“You are the fifth person to say that this evening,” he replied, “and the only one I care to hear it from.”

Khrys nearly melted but she straightened herself as they walked down the steps together. “Only five?” she asked and heard him snort.

The door to the hall opened and revealed the totally decked out Main Hall. There was no way Skyhold could match anything that Orlais could produce or even Fereldan, this was a Fortress after all not a parlor. Rustic and grand and there was already a considerable amount of people.

“Lady Inquisitor Khrystabel Lavellan and Ser Michel de Chevin,” the herald announced.

For a moment Michel’s thoughts dwelled on her last name, what he wouldn’t give for her to introduced as Khrystabel de Chevin, he didn’t ask because it made her uncomfortable but he clung to the hope that one day she’d be more receptive.

“You’re tense,” she commented quietly so only he could hear. “are you okay?”

He was tense but not only because he was thinking of asking her to marry him again, Gaspard was supposed to be in attendance, and that made him tense. Yes, Gaspard pardoned him. Yes, his secret was still kept from the Chevaliers, but it unnerved him all the same. Gaspard could destroy him with a word, it nagged at him and although he knew the Emperor wouldn’t betray his promise to him it was still a gambit with a high price. If the Chevaliers knew who he really was they’d strip his name from the ranks and execute him. “Never did like attending parties.” Not entirely a lie but Khrys seemed to accept it as face value.

Khrys turned her head to his ear and drew dangerously close to the point he could feel her breath tickling him. “Relax, Vhenan, you’ll be rewarded later for your patience.”

Michel almost said something to that when the undertones of her sentence caught up and he closed his mouth with a sharp single nod. The promise of that was enough to make him do just about anything; he’d learned a lot over the years especially how to handle soirees. He didn’t like all the people but he did like that Khrys seemed to have fun at them and she did look beautiful in those gowns.

Michel had never shaken the bodyguard in him, just as he did with Celene; he always surveyed the room looking for dangers, suspicious people, anything that might pose a threat. He wasn’t Khrys’ bodyguard but he would die to protect her. The duties of the bodyguard fell to Fenris when he wasn’t out on a mission. The Elf was a fine guard at that, absolutely deadly with or without a weapon, Michel liked him. As his eyes scanned the crowd he found Fenris keeping his distance but evidently vigilant.

“The gold dress, excellent choice, my Dear,” Dorian greeted and she smiled at his greeting as Michel snapped back to his job as escort for the beauty on his arm. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly. “so do you.”

Dorian laughed smirking as he did. “I always look lovely, my Dear,” he chuckled as Michel barely tried to hide his eye roll. “Ser Michel, a pleasure as always.” He winked and this time he made no attempt to hide the eye roll but only succeeded in making Dorian chuckle. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to steal your lovely lady for a few moments.”

It wasn’t really a request; it was more of a statement. Dorian knew that Michel would have a watchful eye on the Inquisitor as did Fenris from the sidelines. Security was so tight and there were so many guards present that someone would have to be extremely stupid or Zevran to get in and pull off a hit, and Zevran was in Antiva.

Fenris watched as Dorian took Khrys over to the Fereldan royal family. He bristled again at Lydia, Blood Mage…and the fucking Queen of Fereldan. That offended him to no end but he remained on his best behavior. Years spent in the Inquisition, surrounded by more mages than he could shake a stick at and working with mages taught him to be a little more accepting but his hate of them still burned bright. A mage turned him into what he was now, angry, reclusive, and a nearly unstoppable killer. The markings may have served him well but it was still unsettling. On more than one occasion he’d thought about outing Lydia’s well-kept secret, what would happen to her kingdom if they knew just what type of mage they had sitting on their throne? Alistair would have him killed on the spot that was for certain. Despite the thoughts he entertained he kept them to himself, but if Lydia ever stepped out of line he’d be there to make sure she never did it again.

He watched them closely, mainly Lydia, she didn’t need to be armed to be dangerous but the beautiful flame haired Warden-Queen had a relaxed air about her, she laughed at something Dorian said and proceeded to compliment Khrys’ gown and vice versa. Fenris observed the Queen’s purple corset gown and imagined what Khrys would look like in that color. He snapped from his daydream and focused; Alistair carried himself like a soldier but didn’t seem to be armed. Duncan, however, the kid had a knife up his left sleeve. Likely a small carving knife tucked far enough under the cuff in a forearm sheath that it couldn’t be seen. Fenris allowed a small smile at that, smart Prince.

So far guests were arriving and everything was proceeding without a hitch, the environment was relaxed and friendly with only a handful of people not present yet. Gaspard was fashionably late, although Dorian would have been thrilled if he didn’t show up at all, Cassandra was on her way in, and Varric had just arrived.

“Varric,” Khrys greeted with a broad, happy grin, “welcome back.”

Varric strolled toward her with the swagger that only that dwarf could master. He looked like he owned the place and raised a finger toward her. “What have they done to you, Little One?” he asked and she giggled at his nickname for her. “I leave and they turn you into the pompous nobility, holding Balls and Masquerades…tell me who to shoot.”

“Did you bring Bianca with you? I’m sure she’d love the party,” Khrys replied and Varric snorted shaking his head.

“Nah, she hates all the frilly dresses and stuffed shirts,” he said as they continued their little game.

Well, it’s good that at least you came,” she nodded, satisfied with that.

“For Bree’s 16th? Wouldn’t miss it. I heard about all the hoopla with people asking for her hand, if nothing else I came to watch Sparkles lose his mind,” Varric answered and the pair laughed again.

“Well, he hasn’t lost it yet but then again Gaspard hasn’t arrived, so there’s still time,” she informed as Varric gave her an exaggerated gleeful expression.

“Bree’s 16th and all aside, I did come for another reason,” he said his tone serious now and Khrys gave him her full attention. “It’s about Kirkwall and that pious Prince you call an ally.” Khrys nearly groaned, over the last 15 years the subject of Varric, Sebastian, and Kirkwall has been the bane of her existence. Varric hated Sebastian and Sebastian had occupied Kirkwall for 15 years. “Now, I know you’re gonna take his side because you think you owe him for saving your Clan but damn it, Khrys, the only reason he’s still there is because of what Anders did. Anders. Not Kirkwall. We ask him to leave he says no, we fight him, he pushes back.”

Khrys had been through this a few times over the years and it all boiled down to the same thing. “Kirkwall doesn’t have a stable government, Varric, that’s why Starkhaven is still there. Every time he tries to leave it descends back into chaos,” she stated, it was the same line Varric had heard over and over again. “Like it or not, we need to Free Marches stable…if Sebastian and his forces bring that stability, fine.”

“Oh, come on, Khrys, he’s one step off from being a tyrant,” Varric stressed, his tone a little more harsh. “He controls over half of the Free Marches…Wycome I get, but Markham…Kirkwall?”

This frustrated her, this topic always frustrated her. She owed Sebastian a huge debt, he never asked for anything in return. She owed Varric; the man saved her life on more than one occasion. The Inquisitor had to remain neutral. “Varric, this is not the time or place to talk about this. Save it for the Council.”

Varric scoffed. “Remember the last Council meeting, pirated by Blondie and Choir Boy going at it…the topic of Kirkwall fell by the wayside.”

Khrys grumbled, she remembered that. That meeting had been a mess from top to bottom and she hoped against hope that didn’t repeat this time. “Varric, look, I know you’re upset but please table it for later. Try to relax and have a good time, see the old faces. Anders and Tess are here and I know Tess would love to see you,” she offered trying the velvet touch.

Varric scoffed. Tess he’d love to see again, she was a great friend and decent Wicked Grace player and her son Malcolm was a good kid, but Anders…there were lots of things he could call Anders but a friend really wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. “Oh, swell, Choir Boy and Blondie in the same room together again, because that won’t bite you in the ass,” he said sarcastically. “Not to mention Broody and Curly…oh and the Seeker…Khrys, at the end of the night you’re either going to have one hell of a story to tell or a huge bloodbath as half the room is going to kill the other half.”

“Varric!” Khrys scolded trying to keep her voice down.

“Alright, alright, I’ll mingle…but don’t say I didn’t warn you. When you see Blondie tell him he might want to consider running.”

Malcolm cleaned up well, most of the time he ran around in shades of black or brown leather or cloth and a dingy hooded cloak. He spiffed up for this, Bree was his friend and it was her birthday so if formal attire was required then it was formal attire he wore. He opted out of the Inquisition tunic given that he wasn’t officially a member yet, that and no one had spoken to his father yet. Khrys only wanted to put out one fire at a time and Anders was going to create more than one during this event.

His hair was slicked back, still wet from the bath, and out of his face, his face was clean with a little stubble growing back and he wore fine clothes provided by Dorian. He selected the outfit with Dorian’s help but stuck to his safe colors; he had black trousers, supple black tall boots, a burgundy silk shirt, and a black leather and cloth tunic over top of that. He looked official but not overdressed. Dorian was exasperated when he chose mostly black but Malcolm didn’t like the other colors in his wardrobe so he just dealt with it. ‘At least you don’t look like a servant.’ Dorian had commented.

He tapped on the door to Bree’s room and heard the response allowing him to enter. Malcolm blinked at the sight of her and looked her up and down. He’d known Bree since they were kids but this was the first time he’d ever felt his heart race like this.

Bree wore a silver and blue silk dress, the dominate color being silver but the bodice and a large swath down the front was royal blue. The gown was from Orlais and was probably a gift but she easily looked ten times better in it than anyone else. Her thick black hair was pulled into a tight side braid that hung down to the middle of her chest.

She turned to face him and there was only one way to describe what he was seeing. She was beautiful. It was like someone opened his eyes for the first time and he cleared his throat trying to figure out what to say. “I uhhh…,” he cleared his throat again and she looked at him stumbling over his words with a furrowed brow, “you look…you look beautiful, Bree.”

She smiled, blushing at his expression and reaction to her appearance. Malcolm was always Malcolm, she never looked at him the way he was looking at her right now but she found herself not offended by it. Malcolm looked good in what he was wearing; he looked just like his father.

“Thank you,” she replied. “You look handsome too…finally out of those dingy clothes.”

Malcolm stammered and his normally cool demeanor faltered. “Uhh, yeah…,” he blushed and ducked his head trying to hide it. “Your father’s…I didn’t have anything formal,” he admitted, sounding almost embarrassed about it.

Bree’s smile put him at ease and she stepped up to him smoothing his tunic. “You look great,” she smiled. It was a blessing that Malcolm and her father were close to the same build even if Malcolm wasn’t quite as filled out as Dorian.

He gave her a half smile and remembered why he had been sent. “I believe they are waiting for you,” he said and her face brightened.

“You get to escort me?” she asked sounding overjoyed about that as Malcolm offered her his right arm.

The feelings that were coursing through him right now actually unnerved him a little, this was Bree…she wasn’t a girl she was just Bree. He quashed it and focused. “I believe I do, My Lady,” he replied with a smile.

**

At the end of the corridor they found an open door with the evening’s herald on the other side. As soon as he saw he was going to announce their presence and Bree felt nervous all of the sudden, this wasn’t the biggest party she’d ever been too but it was the only one that centered on her. This was her party. No pressure.

“Lady Gabriella, scion of House Pavus and escort Malcolm Hawke,” the herald announced and suddenly Bree felt out of place with all the eyes that were on her. She gulped and her wide eyed expression was hard to miss. Lucky for her Malcolm was as cool as they came; he didn’t like all those eyes on him but kept his cool.

“Oh, I do not like all these eyes on me,” she muttered and clutched his arm tighter. “I feel like there’s a stain on my dress or something in my teeth.”

Malcolm looked down and gave her a half smile before returning his attention to the eyes on them both. “You look beautiful, Bree, you always do,” he said and she blushed.

“Aww…you like me, Mal, I saw the look on your face earlier,” she teased and Malcolm cleared his throat trying to hide his embarrassment from what she obviously saw. “That’s why you wanted to escort me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he commented. “your mother sent me to get you.”

Bree giggled as they waded through the people all oohing and ahhing over her dress and hair and Malcolm on her arm. They weren’t just looking at Bree; Malcolm was as handsome as they came, tall, well-dressed, and looking like he belonged on her arm.

“You look stunning, my dear,” Dorian greeted and kissed his daughter’s cheek then looked at Malcolm. “And you…alright fine…you’re right, the black and red looks good on you.”

Malcolm smiled smugly satisfied that he was right about his fashion sense as they were joined by two very familiar faces. Anders had cleaned up too didn’t put on the same finery his son chose. While he, Malcolm, and Dorian all shared the same height and build Anders didn’t like going too fancy. His hair was tied back as it usually was and he wore a brown tunic with a white under shirt. For as simple as it was he was still as dashing as he ever. Tess had seen enough noble parties trying to keep up appearances in Kirkwall, the Champion was invited to all the best parties and she succeeded in dragging Anders to one or two before things blew up in Kirkwall, literally. Anders the social butterfly liked the attention but Anders the mage hated it. In Kirkwall he had the protection of the Champion and one or two Templars that hadn’t lost their damn minds, but strolling around alone was dangerous, going to a party was worse. Regardless, when Tess asked him, he accompanied her until things in Kirkwall got too dangerous for him. Tess was a sight that made Anders’ mouth go dry. She may have come from humble origins but she cleaned up like a princess and carried herself like a Queen. She wore a light blue dress with an empire waist that was simple but elegant. The brunette Force mage was beautiful and he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I thought we were done with parties after I blew up Kirkwall.” Anders muttered and Tess simply gave him a scowl and Anders snorted. “Too soon…?” he snorted. “Sorry.”

Tess half chuckled at his comment and he grinned in return as he acknowledged the presence of one of many people who wanted him dead at this party. “Fenris,” he said simply using the Elf’s name has a hello.

Fenris eyed him coldly, he’d had to get used to a lot of things over the years, and the fact that he couldn’t kill that bastard apostate on sight was the hardest one to swallow. His expression was enough to convey his feelings toward the mage and Anders simply chuckled at it. Fenris shifted his eyes to Tess and nodded at her, whatever else that took place in Kirkwall he did trust Tess, he even followed her in the defense of the mages simply because she asked him to help. “Tess,” he nodded in his typical greeting of her.

Khrys looked from Fenris to Anders and could still feel Fenris’ lingering anger toward him. Maybe Varric was right, this many people in one place all with one thing in common: kill Anders. Perhaps not one of her most solid plans. “If I have to I’ll put the same warning on the two of you that I did Sebastian. No fighting.”

Anders held up his hands like an innocent child. “I didn’t say anything,” he replied, his tone as sincere as he could make it.

“Pish,” Khrys commented not believing his innocent act. “I know you, Anders.”

Once again Anders defended his innocence. “I didn’t say anything.” Now it was just funny.

Khrys snorted, she didn’t believe him at all, Malcolm was just like him and she’d spent enough time with Anders to know that he liked to antagonize anyone he could get a rise out of. “Maybe not yet,” she snorted. “You like to antagonize just as much as he likes to glare,” she added gesturing pointedly to Fenris.

Fenris’ brow furrowed deeply as he looked down at Khrys. “I didn’t say anything,” both Fenris and Anders chorused. At that moment they glared at each other simply for the crime of speaking in unison.

Tess giggled along with Bree at the glare exchange between Fenris and Anders. “She’s right, you know,” Tess agreed and Anders feigned a glare. “Where do you think he gets it from?”

Malcolm hadn’t said word one to his parents so far and gave the same innocent expression his father had, if there was any doubt of his parentage, it was set straight right then. “Don’t bring me into this,” he replied and Bree laughed at the mirror image of Anders. “I didn’t piss off half of Thedas.”

Bree chortled mischievously from his left. “Not yet,” she added and Malcolm lightly shoved her right shoulder only to be punched his left by her.

Dorian groaned, childish behavior…all of them, he tried to raise a lady and only partly succeeded. Malcolm was like a brother to her and when they were together they acted like childish, immature siblings.

**

Bree began to mingle, she was very outgoing and friendly and she knew most of the people at this party so she was comfortable as she moved around to say hello and came to Duncan with a bright smile. Duncan looked sharp in black, tan, and white; he had on tall back boots, black trousers, a tan shirt, and a clean white tunic over that. It was a clean look, and strikingly handsome.

“Lady Bree,” he nodded kindly with a smile, “you look lovely…and happy birthday.”

She blushed and giggled, Duncan was charming in a subtle way, not like her bold as brass father, more like how she observed Michel. “Thank you,” she curtsied. “You enjoying yourself?”

Duncan shrugged, he liked the party for what it was but he didn’t like all the posturing. “This is supposed to be a birthday party?” he asked and she chuckled understanding his meaning. “I’ve never had this many people show up for any of my birthdays.”

Bree laughed and he offered her his arm so he could walk with her. “No offense but I’m prettier than you,” she sniped and Duncan let out a good laugh.

“That is very true, My Lady,” he replied still chuckling. “Would you care to dance, Bree?”

Bree’s smile was lovely and she nodded quickly. If she though there were a lot of eyes on her when she and Malcolm were announced there were even more now, she was currently dancing with the heir to the Fereldan Kingdom, the man that was offered to her as a husband. She still didn’t know how she felt about that but Duncan was nice, he was much better than what she initially thought a Prince would be like.

Dorian regarded them as he quietly moved around the dance floor; it was still unsettling to think about his daughter potentially getting married. Duncan was a good young man, quiet and kind who’s potential hadn’t been realized yet. He was curious to know just what kind of King he would be when he ascended to the throne. As unsettling as it was to admit, they did make a cute couple.

“Careful about where you’re going,” a familiar voice said jogging him out of his observations, “might walk into a wall…or someone.”

Dorian turned to see Balian in full armor and standing just far enough out of the way to be inconspicuous. He wasn’t there to mingle or enjoy the party; he was working, keeping an eye on Sebastian. He swallowed and welcomed Balian as a distraction. “Into you?”

Balian smiled and chuckled as Dorian stood close to him. “You look good,” he complimented looking Dorian up and down with approval. “Khrys is right…you do look good in red.”

He could always count on Balian to take his mind off of what was bugging him, however, with Balian there was something else on his mind. Their fight the night before, Dorian’s frustration got the better of him and pissed Balian off. “I would like to apologize again about last night,” he said sincerely and Balian shook his head, he’d already forgiven his little tantrum.

“No apology necessary,” he assured with a charming smile and Dorian sighed, damn that Elf’s kindness and charm.

“We do need to talk about this, Bail,” he said his tone gentler than last night but still serious.

Balian sighed and nodded slightly looking past Dorian to keep an eye on Sebastian currently talking to Khrys and a few other people. So far Anders had kept his distance from the Prince which was a blessing at the moment, when the meeting started all bets were off. Sebastian was a very reserved man who fought when he had to, but when it came to Anders he’d set fire to Thedas if he could. “I know,” he sighed resigning himself to the fact that Dorian was right. “We will.”

Dorian smiled at him, he did love that man. “Save a dance for me, Amatus,” he smirked and Balian scoffed as Dorian was expecting.

Balian had never learned to dance and wasn’t about to start now. He would jump into pitched battle or volunteer to Champion someone he’d never met, but the idea of ‘dancing’ scared the hell out of him. “I do not dance…sorry,” he replied knowing that Dorian knew that. The mage was teasing him and had walked off chuckling at his lover’s predictable reply.

**

Bree still had a hold of Duncan’s right hand as they stepped away from their dance and approached Anders and Malcolm. Malcolm snatched a glass of wine from a server’s tray and downed it in one gulp earning a raised eyebrow from his father. Malcolm shrugged innocently and Anders chuckled softly, a distinct feeling of déjà vu. It was almost like looking at a mirror from when he was in Kirkwall and dragged to noble events by the love of his life.

“I think I got shorter,” Bree complained as she fiddled with the bottom of the gown. “I keep stepping on my dress.”

Malcolm scoffed looking down at her as she used Duncan’s right had to steady herself. “You get any shorter and you’re gonna be a Dwarf,” he teased hearing Duncan barely stifle a snort as Bree didn’t hesitate and punched the tall mage in the abdomen causing him to grunt from the impact.

Anders patted his son’s left shoulder and shook his head with a sigh. “Never say things like that to short women, my boy,” Anders advised in his best fatherly tone.

Malcolm rubbed the impact site and glanced up at his father who was barely able to keep from laughing. “Couldn’t you have said that 10 seconds ago?”

Anders chuckled and shrugged at his offspring. “I would have figured that would be obvious.”

“Even I know that,” Duncan chimed in and Malcolm gave him a sardonic glare and matching smile.

Bree was playing with him; she’d grown up with the damn short jokes from him. “You want another one, Mal?” she hissed as she stood ready for another strike. Duncan noticed that she may have been little but she wasn’t afraid.

Malcolm held up his hands in surrender. “Peace, peace, peace…would hate for you to jump up and bite my ankles,” he sniped again knowing she’d hit him again. She did, Bree slapped his arm and his chest in sequence as he laughed at successfully getting a rise out of her. Duncan bellowed laughter at the comment.

He blocked the next few slaps as the black haired birthday girl huffed at his teasing. “You have my permission, Bree, kill him,” Anders added shaking his head at all the childish behavior between them. Having one child was all that he and Tess could manage while hiding from half of Thedas, Malcolm spent a lot of his childhood alone until he was 8 when he met Bree in Skyhold. He knew a few Chasind children and spent a little bit of time with them before that but for the most part Malcolm never had kids his own age to play with. Anders was forever grateful to Bree for providing that.

“Thanks for the support, Dad,” Malcolm chuckled pretending to be hurt.

Anders scoffed in kind. “I didn’t raise you to be a fool; she’s a fire mage for Maker’s sake. One thing the circle taught me that was useful: Don’t make a fire mage angry.”

Duncan joined the fray. “Come on…someone her size…what kind of damage could she do?” he joked and the laugh from Malcolm carried through the hall. Never in a million years did he expect Duncan to join the friendly ribbing so early.

Bree closed her mouth and gave up when Duncan joined in. “Oh, not you too!” she exclaimed but she wasn’t angry, it was impossible to be angry right now. Malcolm and Duncan were both laughing; well at least they had bonded. She liked Duncan; he had a sense of humor. She looked over at Anders who had been chuckling as well until he saw her looking at him. He cleared his throat and stood up straight.

“Allow me to rescue you, my Lady Bree, would you honor me with a dance?” he asked properly and offered her his right hand. Bree accepted with a smile and they headed for the dance floor.

**

The Orlesian entourage wasn’t just fashionably late but just plain late. Gaspard hadn’t expected the trip to be delayed as much as it was but he had arrived. Of all the monarchs that were in attendance, he had the biggest contingent with him. Orlais over did everything and letting their Emperor go from the Winter Palace to Skyhold without enough people to occupy a village was not done.

“Emperor Gaspard de Chalons of Orlais, accompanied by Prince Jean-Fredric, of Verchiel,” the herald announced causing everyone present to turn and look. The people parted and most of them bowed to the royal presence.

Khrys could pick Gaspard out of crowd of masked men. He had an air about him, a confident but tempered swagger. When they met at the Winter Palace Gaspard was nothing like she thought he’d be. He was charming and didn’t treat her like a second class citizen despite her being an Elf, worse a Dalish Elf. He treated her like an equal but she wasn’t entirely sure it if it was her status as Inquisitor, if he was trying to get her on his side, or if he was really just a nice guy. The pair just clicked, they worked well during the plot to destabilize the Orlesian Empire, she liked his charm and honesty and he liked everything about her. They flirted heavily and still did to a point but when she declined his offer of marriage he ceased his pursuit. His pursuit of a Elf mage was a bad idea all around but it was the one time he let his affections get in the way of the honor code that ruled his life. Gaspard was still handsome even with the ever present and irritating Orlesian mask. The man to his right had nearly an identical build, tall and broad, and looked like a capable fighter.

“Your majesty,” Khrys greeted bowing her head; she’d never master the curtsy and had no plans to do so.

Michel was tense on the inside but what he projected to the outside world was an element of calm that no one could question. He still found their past relationship a bit strange and couldn’t help be a little jealous, he wasn’t entirely sure just how far their ‘flirting’ went. It was indecent of him to ask but the question nagged.

Gaspard returned her bow casually looking her up and down; she was still beautiful and sweet. “No need for such formalities, My Dear Lady,” he said charmingly and took her hand, lightly kissing the back of it.

Michel’s calm was broken slightly as he nearly growled to the Emperor the minute he touched her. Khrys ignored the shift his manner. “Welcome to Skyhold, Gaspard,” she replied formally with a blushing smile, and Gaspard let go of her hand knowing she was no longer available and that her lover was practically growling at him then gave Michel a respectful nod. He respected Michel and would never try to take another man’s woman especially that of a Chevalier he respected as much as he did Michel.

“Always a pleasure to be here, Khrystabel,” he replied with a flirty smile. “May I introduce my son Jean-Fredric.”

The tall Prince bowed respectfully to the little Elf. “An honor to meet you, Lady Inquisitor.” Khrys was probably the only Elf to receive such treatment by Orlesian royalty.

“I apologize for our lateness, Lady Inquisitor; there were unexpected troubles on the journey here.” Gaspard apologized and Khrys shook her head at him.

**

Malcolm and Duncan clearly hit it off, fast friends, and it showed. At the party they hung out cracking jokes and making all kinds of short jokes toward Bree. Malcolm was a little more careful about them so he didn’t get punched harder than he already had been.

“Well, Orlais has arrived?” Duncan commented looking over the entourage that had arrived. “Prince Jean-Fredric.”

“You know him?” Malcolm asked as he observed the Orlesians talk to Khrys and Dorian.

Duncan nodded. “Tournament a few years ago, he’s a hell of a horseman…perfect jousting technique.”

“You sound like you want to marry him,” Malcolm teased and Duncan made a face.

“So not my type, Messer Hawke, but thank you for the match making attempt,” he replied in kind as Malcolm only raised a glass to him letting the joke carry on. “I mean this in the best way possible: do not quit your day job,” Malcolm kept chuckling as Duncan took a swig from his goblet. “I would like to beat him in the joust this year.”

Malcolm was unsure of what he was talking about, of course he knew what a tournament was but had never really been a fan of them. He’d never seen one. He wasn’t present for the one held at the bottom of the mountain several years ago or the one at Denerim which was the most recent. “A joust? The man is your competition for Bree…not a tournament purse.”

Duncan shrugged. “Have you seen the man joust? He doesn’t lose.”

Malcolm cleared his throat. “Who won the last tournament?” he asked and Duncan answered quickly like he had the scores memorized.

“That would be Captain Rainier,” he informed.

Malcolm’s point was made. Thom won the Denerim tournament, the last grand tourney, and Jean-Fredric had also competed in it. “Apparently he lost.”

Duncan shook his head. “No, he scratched.”

Malcolm shook his head with an amused snort. “You nobles and your tourneys.”

“Have you ever been to one?” Duncan asked as Malcolm said nothing but shook his head. “You should come to the Starkhaven one…it’s in a few months.”

Malcolm nearly laughed; the idea of him being welcomed into Starkhaven was almost laughable. Sebastian would kick him out just because of his parentage. “One, I don’t know how to joust and two, I’m a mage and mages aren’t allowed to compete.”

Duncan shook his head, he knew the rules but that’s not what he was getting at. “Didn’t say you had to compete, it’s fun to watch.”

Whether he wanted to go or not was a moot point. There were places in Thedas that he wasn’t welcome because of others and Starkhaven was one of them. “I’m not welcome in Starkhaven,” he stated quietly and Duncan paused, he understood and didn’t press the matter further.

Dorian looked like he was ready to explode; Gaspard had arrived and brought with him his only son and heir. The arrogant ass fawned over Khrys but he kept his distance now since Michel came into the picture. That was the only redeeming quality about the Emperor; he knew when to stop, when his affections were no longer welcome. His glower softened a little when he saw Bree, his daughter was beautiful, she looked more beautiful than a Queen and there was in fact a queen present. He allowed a smile to replace his bitter scowl, he was proud of the woman his daughter was growing up to be. She was well spoken, elegant, and spirited…just like her mother.

His smile vanished like smoke in the wind when he watched Bree join her mother, being presented to Gaspard and his son like a broodmare. He blinked to his own thought, even he thought that was unworthy of him, Khrys would never treat their daughter like that but Dorian’s spite was getting the better of him.

“Gaspard, you remember my daughter Bree?” Khrys asked and Dorian blinked out of his spiteful trance.

The Emperor stepped closer and took Bree’s right hand kissing the back of it. “My Lady, Bree, you have grown into a fine young lady…it is a pleasure to see you again.” He smiled formally.

Bree remembered Gaspard well; she’d met him on several occasions over the years. Her first trip to Halamshiral was 7 years ago, Gaspard laughed as all she wanted to do was go riding. He approved of her independence and lack of interest of dithering with court ladies. Dorian had taught Bree well when it came to handling nobles and royals and she never missed a beat no matter how fake anything felt. She curtsied to the Orlesian monarch and smiled. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

Gaspard turned slightly and gestured to the man standing a few paces back from him. “Allow me to introduce my son, Prince Jean-Fredric of Verchiel.”

There was awkwardness about all this and everyone present in the group could feel it. Dorian’s scowl was hard to ignore and really didn’t help matters much. It was all the Magister could do not to lay into Gaspard right then and there. The nerve he had to offer his son to ‘strengthen their alliance’…that burned Dorian hotter than any fire ever could.

Jean was quiet as he bowed to her like an enigmatic figure hidden behind a mask. Bree felt her heart speed up to his soft blue eyes, the only thing she could see behind that gold half mask. His smile was roguish but charming and she actually liked the fact that he didn’t follow suit and kiss her hand. “Call me Jean, my Lady.” He said and she felt her throat go dry.

She smiled to him and nodded. “Welcome to Skyhold, Highness,” she said and he acknowledged Dorian.

“Lord Dorian,” he nodded his tone respectful to the man whose daughter he had an opportunity to marry. He read the mage’s expression and understood it; he had a young sister and would probably be acting the same. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

Dorian looked him up and down, he was a battle tested warrior, a Chevalier and that made it worse. Chevalier’s were like the Templars, once noble and honorable but time had all but destroyed the Orders’ good name. Templars were all but shattered by the Mage-Templar War and then Corypheus; it took almost a decade to rebuild it. Chevaliers, however, had always had a tarnished reputation; they took what they wanted no matter what. He’d seen enough of what Chevalier’s were capable of…they didn’t deserve the esteem that obliviously Orlais held them to.

It would be bad manners for him to snub him and tactically bad as well. “You’re quite welcome, Highness,” Dorian replied but his tone was hard to ignore. He could bullshit just like the rest of them and make it sound convincing.

**

With Orlais there the party gained an extra layer of pomp. Gaspard danced with Lydia and stifled snickers floated through the room, the man still couldn’t dance very well. He was a soldier not a princess. Khrys was the one who had danced with him at the Winter Palace all those years ago so she knew very well that he wasn’t the best dancer in the world. She didn’t dance much anymore, she didn’t really like it to begin with, she didn’t turn it down when people asked and Michel did ask her to save a dance for him. Her toes curled when he did that, so dashing and handsome like the fairy tale romances. Dorian would be one who would ask her for a dance but so far he was too wrapped up in Bree, Duncan, and Jean to even notice a party going on.

Jean downed what was left in his wine glass and took in the room, the saw the king and queen of Fereldan; the Queen dancing with his father and saw the dark haired young man standing near another dark haired young man. The shorter one he identified as Prince Duncan, a young man he’d met a few years ago at the Denerim Tournament. He didn’t know who the taller one was but he carried himself with a cold confidence, an almost unsettling confidence. He next looked at Sebastian Vael, the Starkhaven Prince and the best archer in all of Thedas. That man had conquered more lands over the last decade than anyone else in recent memory. Half of the Free Marches were under his control and it was staggering to think that someone of his tactical prowess was a former Chantry brother. Of course with him, as always, was Balian Lavellan, his loyal bodyguard and Champion. The Elf was famous for being masterful with a sword and had never lost in single combat. Adding to the heady group was the infamous Cullen Rutherford, the leader of the Inquisition’s military arm. He’d met him on several occasions, his father gave him high praise and Jean had actually learned a lot from him.

This party was an impossible gathering of famous, deadly people. Kings, Queens, warriors, countless mages, Seekers…a volatile group if someone set off the right fuse. The fugitive mage that started it all was present, Anders. He seemed rather ordinary given the hoopla associated with him.

His eyes fell on the Inquisitor, for such a tiny woman her reputation was larger than life. This was the woman his father always spoke of, the woman who put him on the throne and gave Orlais the years of peace and prosperity it enjoyed now. He felt a little awkward knowing how his father felt about her, he asked to marry her a long time ago but there was no way that would ever happen. Still, the fact that his father asked an Elf to marry him was enough to make things a little strange.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” a sweet voice asked causing him to turn to find Bree beside him.

Jean wore blue and gold in a tunic with a typical Orlesian design on it. The gold half mask he wore revealed brown stubble on the lower part of his face and he had short brown hair. His smile was charming and sweet and she liked it. “It is lovely, My Lady,” he replied his tone soft and kind.

Bree snorted. “Nothing like your Orlesian parties I’m sure,” she giggled and he chuckled in response.

“Thank the Maker for that,” he replied making her laugh more. Jean-Fredric was tall, at least as tall as her father. Dorian, Malcolm, Anders, all towered over people and apparently Jean-Fredric was no different. He looked down at Bree and smiled under his half mask. “Happy birthday, Lady Bree,” he said smoothly, his voice was deep but his common tongue was nearly perfect, his Orlesian accent was light but unmistakable.

Bree blushed and blinked, this was the Orlesian Prince? Tall and broad with a charming smile and blue eyes she could see under the mask. Speech escaped her and she felt like a buffoon. “Umm…,” was her response and she closed her eyes to the embarrassing sound. “No…wait…I’m sorry,” she corrected and huffed at the realization that she was making it worse. Jean’s smile only broadened. “Thank you, your highness.”

“Please…,” he began and gently took her right with his left bringing it up to her lips so he could kiss the back of it, “call me Jean.”

Bree blushed from her ears to her toes at his words, they were simple words but his tone and manners sparked her internal desire. “Holy crap!” she exclaimed to herself. “Bree,” she replied in kind smiling at him.

“Dance, My Lady?”

She giggled softly, he was such a gentleman. “You dance?”

“I’m Orlesian, My Lady, you can’t play the great game without mastering the Ballroom,” he replied as he held her right hand in his left lightly while he led her to the center of the room.

“Is that what you’re doing now, playing the game?” she asked as he took the lead in a Waltz.

“You are very direct,” he commented over their deft movements. “I like that; it’s refreshing for someone to actually be honest.”

“And the answer to my question?” she asked. She’d been warned by pretty much everyone to be wary of Orlesians.

Jean was far from offended and his smile returned. “I detest the game, My Lady,” he answered honestly. “It has its uses and can be unavoidable but people are people…not pawns on a chess board.”

Bree attempted to determine if he was telling her the truth or not. His eyes were sincere but she couldn’t see his face so she took his words with a grain of salt. “You’re not just telling me what I want to hear are you, for the simple matter of impressing me?”

They were lost in their conversation but their dance carried on. People paused to watch them but Bree had only looked one place so far; into his blue eyes. “My Lady, you are a true delight,” he said. “As you don’t know me…my word means nothing to you but if you allow me to show you the type of man I am, I swear on my Chevalier code to tell you nothing but the truth.”

Bree felt her stomach flutter, he was nothing like she’d expected. Orlesian’s were snobbish and pampered. So far Jean had portrayed himself as anything but. It could have been an act but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Alright,” she replied smiling sweetly.

When the music stopped Jean and Bree did as well. “I thank you for the dance, Lady Bree; perhaps we can do this again.” She couldn’t hide the blushing that made her cheeks burn bright as he again kissed the back of her hand and bowed to her before turning away. She watched the Orlesian prince walk away and continued blushing beyond what she could hide.

“You’re blushing, Da’len,” a man said from behind her. No man called her Da’len but Balian and she turned sharply almost embarrassed by being caught staring, blushing, and probably drooling.

“I am not,” she defended quickly as nothing but Balian’s soft chuckle was heard. “Oh, shush, Balian. Wouldn’t you be?”

Balian looked after the tall Orlesian and shrugged. “I can see why,” he replied and she blushed more. “Never did care for Orlesian’s much though…too arrogant.”

Bree’s brow furrowed and she gave Balian a scoff. “Balian, have you met my father?” she asked making Balian laugh a little louder.

“Point made,” he conceded and noticed people starting to slowly trickle out of the main hall. It was a discreet disappearing act but it meant that the other reason for this gather was about to get underway. “Happy birthday, Bree,” he nodded respectfully as he moved away toward Sebastian but turned on his heel to face her. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Bree had always liked Balian; she was a kid when she met him in the stables. She’d cut her hand on a nail and he gave her a cloth to stop the bleeding. When she first met him his scarred face scared her a little but she soon realized that the quiet, soft-spoken Elf was funny, loyal, and very protective. He spoke to her in Elvish as he quietly wrapped her hand up in the scarf. She’d never forget that kind memory from the scarred warrior from Starkhaven.


	8. The Council

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Eight: The Council

The Divine Council, or just simply ‘The Council’, was established by order of the Divine and the other powers of southern Thedas. Its design was to foster transparency between the nations and address threats. It also made sure that the Inquisition remained as a peacekeeping neutral force. Being neutral meant that they could objectively settle disputes, in theory anyway, so far it had worked with all but Tevinter. The Imperium had no idea what to do with the Inquisition and the enormous army they had amassed. The main reason for the Council, however, was to stop Solas. So far that was easier said than done; they’d thwarted him at every turn, captured his Eluvian’s at every chance, and captured or killed his agents. Keeping a very close eye on the Qunari was the other reason; the Qun came uncomfortably close to destroying southern Thedas with one big boom at the Exalted Council but thanks to Solas, the plot was discovered and thwarted…just in time to scramble to stop his.

The Council meetings were generally a standing room only; when everyone was in attendance it was crowded around the war table. Meetings varied depending on how upside down things had gotten and those in attendance varied also, dictated by where people were when a session was called. Mostly they were on a set timeframe and typically met at Skyhold. Once they’d met in Starkhaven, twice at the Winter Palace, and at several Inquisition strongholds throughout Thedas. They were intended to be secret and some were but one like this was hard to hide, thus the stringent security in Skyhold.

Orlais and Fereldan began the Council, Alistair and Lydia represented Fereldan as Lydia also represented the Fereldan Wardens. Gaspard remained the most loyal to Khrys and had the biggest army to back her up. Starkhaven was the third most powerful ally the Inquisition had so Sebastian always had a seat at the table, after proving his unwavering loyalty in Wycome and his success in bringing the Free Marches to heel it wasn’t a shock when Khrys extended him the invitation to join. Dorian ‘represented’ Tevinter although it wasn’t like the Imperium was clambering to be a part of this, they still didn’t care if the south fell to chaos.

Basically it was a conglomeration of Inquisition Inner Circle and senior agents, the powers of southern Thedas, and powerful orders. After herding all those who were required into the War Room, Khrys and Cullen were the last to enter and the doors were closed. Khrys surveyed the room making sure everyone that needed to be there was in attendance. Her eyes went to the new comers to the meeting, Duncan and Jean, standing at the corresponding ends of the war table. They couldn’t be more different, Duncan was awestruck like a kid on his birthday and Jean was quiet and reserved just like his father.

“I call this meeting of the Divine Council now in session,” Josie intoned and the room’s murmuring died down a little and Khrys smiled at someone who had apparently slipped in under every one’s noses.

“Bull,” she grinned up at the enormous Qunari warrior extending her hand to him.

Bull’s massive hand could have snapped hers off with a flick of his wrist. “Sorry, I’m late, Boss. The road is a little crowded,” he said and let a glance go to Dorian. Things were still a little awkward between them but that was for later.

“Glad you could make it…good to have you here,” she replied, Skyhold always felt a little more secure with the Chargers on hand. Bull’s people were the silent, hidden guards when they were in Skyhold. Unseen until it was too late. “You almost missed the party.”

Bull waved it off. “Nah…I’ll wish the birthday girl well when we’re done,” he said and she patted his arm before moving past him. Bull then regarded Fenris speaking to him in Qunlat; there were a handful of people in the Inquisition that even spoke the Qun and only two in this room. Dorian may have called Fenris everything in the book including uneducated but in reality he spoke three languages and was working on a fourth, for someone who still couldn’t read very well he certainly had an aptitude for languages. The only one he hadn’t mastered so far was Elven.

Fenris and Bull got along famously, similar views, similar fighting styles, Bull absolutely loved Fenris’ prized Blade of Mercy. Even though they fought on different sides they’d both spent time in Seheron so they had plenty to chat about. Their conversation was short and probably consisted of basic pleasantries before they returned their attention to everyone else.

Khrys looked over the room noticing the gaatlok keg she had waiting to ignite, Sebastian and Anders, Anders and almost everyone else, Bull and Dorian, Fenris versus mages. _“Well, this’ll be interesting,”_ she thought to herself and sighed as the room quieted before looking at her. “Alright, what do we have?” Khrys asked with sigh. Getting this done and over with was easier said than done. “Qunari?”

“So far no rumblings about Dragon’s Breath, they seem to be happily satisfied with taking a renewed interest in Seheron,” Dorian said brightly and Bull stepped up to add his own information.

“Information from those who still talk to me in the Ben-Hassrath, tell me that Dragon’s Breath is active but inactive, like they’re trying to figure out the next move or some bullshit like that,” Bull informed. “When the Viddasala were killed, things went ass up for it, they weren’t expecting their master plan to be blown to the void by us.”

It wasn’t the Inquisition that put the brakes on Dragon’s Breath, they just brought the hammer, Solas provided the nail. “By Solas,” Khrys corrected and there was that awkward silence that everyone got when it came to the topic of Khrys and Solas. “He told us about it and he’s the one who killed the Viddasala.”

“Point is, they’re biding their time…it’ll spring up again,” Bull continued being as blunt as he normally was.

“That makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside,” Alistair commented from the end of the table opposite Gaspard and Sebastian. His sardonic tone echoed what everyone else was thinking. “How’s the Imperium doing holding them off?”

Dorian shrugged. “Same as they have for decades…stalemate,” he answered with a smile. “The Imperium knows that if the Qunari take the island they will have the perfect set up to invade Thedas. Regardless of how they feel about ‘the south’ they won’t let that happen because that means Tevinter will fall as well.”

“So can we assume that since Tevinter is preoccupied with the Qunari that their ‘saber rattling’ from a few years ago has been put back on the shelf?” Cullen asked and Dorian took a moment but shrugged tentatively.

“Well, they’ll always take issue with the Inquisition, Commander; they still don’t know what to make of us.” Dorian didn’t have a military mind but he knew the basics and rule number one: don’t fight on two fronts.

Gaspard must have read his mind or they were thinking the same thing. “Even Tevinter isn’t foolish enough to start a fight on two fronts,” the seasoned general stated taking the words directly from Dorian’s mind but in an Orlesian accent. “Invading Orlais with the Qunari at their backs would leave them open for invasion and if the Qun gets a foothold in mainland Thedas-…”

He was right, but that was beside the point. _“Pompous bastard,”_ Dorian hissed under his breath. “The rest of us are screwed,” Dorian cut him off and leaned forward bracing on the table. “Thank you for painting such an obvious picture for us, _Your Highness_.”

Gaspard cocked his head at the mage with a curious expression hidden behind the mask. “Have I done something to earn your ire this evening, Lord Dorian?”

That was like fanning the flame but Dorian didn’t move, he just glared at him with the signature irritated Dorian glare, a mix of arrogance and annoyance. _“Pompous, arrogant bastard,”_ he thought again. “Oh, where do I begin?”

Khrys’ shoulders fell slightly as she sighed heavily. “You mean _when_ do I begin and that’ll be later, Dorian,” she said sharply managing to keep everything on point for the moment. “Gaspard-…”

The Emperor’s orders or task on this Council really hadn’t changed much in the past decade so he was certain of what she was about to say. “The Empire of Orlais would be delighted to keep an eye on the Imperium border, My Lady.”

 _“Pompous, arrogant, smug, bastard,”_ Dorian’s thoughts continued and he was fairly certain his thoughts at the moment were a whole lot cleaner than those that were occupying Michel’s mind at the moment. The Chevalier’s expression was impassive, merely a façade; his eyes were locked on the Orlesian who was far too smooth, friendly, and forward with the love of his life. They may have been on friendly terms but Michel was protective of Khrys and would defend her no matter the situation. The idea of Michel beating the Emperor into a bloody heap on the floor made Dorian smile. Grinning like an idiot in front of everyone.

Khrys was as graceful as she always was and nodded respectfully at him. She could count on Gaspard; he was one of a handful of people she trusted completely. Now for the uncomfortable part of the meeting, the topic of her former lover Solas, the evil mastermind who wanted to sunder the world…again. Even after over a decade it was still uncomfortable for her to talk about him but she sucked it up and dealt with it. “Okay…,” she breathed out a in a sigh, “Solas. Warden-Commander?”

Lydia wasn’t expecting to lead off and had wandered from the table but her attention snapped back to them sharply with a ‘huh’. She returned to her initial place and ignored Alistair’s little chuckle as her son looked on probably getting an overwhelming onslaught of information even though it didn’t seem like much at the moment. “So far scouting parties in the Deep Roads from Orzamaar to Griffon Wing have found five total Eluvians. Two were corrupted and dark, one was shattered, and the other two were overridden and are now a part of Morrigan’s network.”

“Bringing our total so far to 30,” Morrigan put in, her resonating voice speaking for the first time that evening.

“We have seen no sign of Solas anywhere in the Deep Roads…not even his agents,” Lydia continued and it was a moment of thought for everyone. “It’s strange…four years ago you couldn’t go 10 feet without tripping over one of his agents, now…nothing.”

“It’s simple,” Khrys began, “what he wants isn’t in the Deep Roads. He had his agents scour as much as they could so he’s either looking for another way to somewhere he can’t get to, or what he’s looking for isn’t in the Deep Roads,” she finished, something else was bugging her though, still bugging her. “Speaking of a Solas sighting, have you heard from Sutherland?”

Her question was aimed at Charter, standing to her left on the other side of Cullen by Duncan. The red haired spymaster shook her head. “I sent ravens to agents in Antiva and Rivain; no one has seen or heard from Sutherland, Shayd, or Voth in months.”

Khrys got that sinking feeling, something wasn’t right. Sutherland was a good agent, he always had been and he was good about checking in. Something was wrong. “When I received your raven, I put my people across the Free Marches on alert, if they turn up we will inform you immediately.” She heard Sebastian add.

Khrys returned his words with a smile and a nod of appreciation. “Charter,” she began, something wasn’t right, Sutherland had to be in trouble for him to go this long without sending up some sort of flare, “send a few people to look for them.”

Charter nodded quietly as Khrys directed her attention to Cassandra, Lady of the Seekers; she took over for Lucius after his transfer to six feet under. To her right was a back haired man that most of Thedas knew, he had a reputation as an archer that rivaled Sebastian, and his name was Ashton Reyne. A smart mouthed, Ander-Orlesian Seeker who was Cassandra’s second in command. The rumor mill around that was that he was also her lover but most were too damn scared of Cassandra to confirm that. The Seekers weren’t exactly a power player but they aided in the pursuit of Solas as best that they could. They were mostly preoccupied with rebuilding the Templars and getting back to their original mandate. Leliana placed the Seekers in the Council to be the neutral party of the neutral party. Watching the watchers, they made sure the Inquisition remained neutral. Sometimes the pecking order of the council made Khrys’ head hurt.

“I do not have anything to add that wasn’t in my last letter to you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, clear, plain, and proper…same old Cassandra. “No sign of Solas thus far. The spy Ashton managed to capture was a Viddathari, though we do not know why she was watching us.”

The room looked to Bull who shrugged. “Don’t look at me…they’re gathering intel on you the same way you’re gathering intel on them.”

“I will update you when we know more, Inquisitor.”

Duncan quietly observed the dynamic of the room. Given the heady group, the feel was more relaxed than what he thought it would be. He figured something like this would be more formal but it was literally just a meeting. He observed the players, Gaspard first, the Emperor was confidant and arrogant. He earned that though, the Emperor was a distinguished war veteran and still the best Chevalier in Orlais although his son may be ready to bump him off the top. The masks were strange to him though, an entire nation that preferred to wear masks in public was beyond odd. They looked goofy too, the ridiculous outfits and the designs of the masks didn’t appeal to him. Jean patiently observed the room same as Duncan but because of the mask he wasn’t sure who he was looking at, if anyone in particular.

Prince Sebastian was in his finest clothing and seemed to be on his best behavior, given the relationship between Anders and the Prince everything was running smoothly so far. Given the fact that Skyhold was on neutral ground, or Sanctuary, as he’d heard Anders call it, Sebastian had to play nice.

Duncan still couldn’t believe he was standing here, among the most powerful people in Thedas. The Seeker and the Inquisition were professional and on point with their investigations, Khrys, Cullen, Charter, and Dorian monopolize the majority of the conversation at the moment.

“You’re curiously quiet this time, Anders,” he heard Khrys comment and the blonde apostate looked up and gave her a curious expression.

He smiled to her, a smile that nearly made Khrys blush. Anders was smooth and dashing…Khrys saw the appeal. The rebel mage was hard to ignore. “The last time I was here I apparently spoke too much…now not enough, please make up your mind, Khrys.”

“That depends, do you have anything or not?” she asked and he chuckled softly.

“Along for the ride this time, Inquisitor,” he replied with a smile. Khrys could definitely see the appeal that Tess fell for.

 

Jean was less wide eyed and awestruck than Duncan was, while he hadn’t been to a meeting before, he’d been briefed and coached by his father for years about everything that went on. He’d been groomed as his successor since as far back as he could remember, and ever since he’d shown his battle prowess at 16 Gaspard had ramped up the education on how to be a ruler. The 19 year old Prince took in his surroundings; the people, the feel of the room…rulers, powerful orders, terrorists, agents…could be a fun meeting.

The Inquisitor was just as his father had always described, she was little but she had a presence. Calm, cool, collected, she had an air about her that was hard to deny. A commanding presence and she was without a doubt the one in charge. His main observation was Dorian; the magister obviously didn’t like him. Jean knew all about his father’s offer of marriage, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it but that all stopped when he met Bree. She was a delight, spirited and direct, he loved that in women. He didn’t like the mousey noble daughters that he was constantly surrounded by. He blinked and stopped thinking about the raven haired beauty he danced with not long ago and returned to his observations of the Council.

Dorian didn’t like him and in all honesty he couldn’t blame him, Jean had a little sister and he was certain that both he and his father would carry the same suspicion Dorian had for someone courting Charlotte. Nobles didn’t marry for love, or at the very least it was extremely rare, his father had been married twice. The first was arranged and the second was actually for love, Gaspard loved Lady Sabine or that’s what he was always told…he never met his mother since she died bringing him into this world.

The Warden King and Queen were noteworthy for him also; those were two people that he’d been taught to be wary of. The lingering animosity between Fereldan and Orlais was hard to ignore, Orlais had invaded, and brutalized its people. Alistair, a goof to the point that people might think he was incompetent, but in reality King Alistair was a very good military commander. His father actually respected him but Jean felt better reserving his judgement for later. Lydia was a mage…that still didn’t sit well for a lot of people, a mage ruling a kingdom. If he in fact married Bree then the same could be said or Orlais…my how the times had changed.

Sebastian Vael was another person he turned his attention to. The Starkhaven prince he had met a few times, he knew his exploits and his credentials. Jean had been warned that Sebastian’s nemesis was also on the Council, Anders…the mage that started it all. Apparently, Council meetings with the two of them present usually resulted in an argument. Jean snorted and he continued to look over the room listening as jabs and jokes were traded among those around. His attention returned to the meeting fully when the Inquisitor spoke again.

“There is one more bit of business that needs to be addressed, it’s not necessarily related to the Council but I have been asked to address it,” Khrys said and looked across her table to Sebastian. “Everyone will remain to bear witness, this concerns Sebastian and Varric.”

The room went silent to the point you could hear a pin drop. Varric blinked. _“Holy shit,”_ he thought, she’s gonna do it.

“Sebastian, how long have you occupied Kirkwall?” she asked and Sebastian suddenly felt on the spot and faltered in his answer with a stammer before he got the whole thing out.  
“20 years,” he answered and heard a scoff from Anders.

“And you don’t consider yourself a tyrant?” Anders asked with an irritating cackle.

Sebastian glared at him as Khrys scolded the mage. “Anders,” she warned sharply.

“What? What would you call a man who has occupied a city for 20 years because of a monumental grudge?” Anders went on and Varric actually felt better than he had an ally in this. He and Anders were by no stretch friends but this was one thing that they actually agreed on.

“It’s not a grudge,” Sebastian hissed in return at the mage he hated so much. “ _You_ turned that city upside down; _you_ destroyed it when you destroyed the Chantry. That city can barely function without my men maintaining order.”

 _“Maintaining order?”_ Anders laughed. “Is that what you call it? I call it oppression…you taking your anger out on the city because you can’t get to me...well…Brother Sebastian, here I am.”

“That’s enough!” Khrys barked loudly before Sebastian could rebuttal. “If I have to say that again, I’m gonna throw you both out.” Sebastian fell silent as soon as she spoke but Anders contemplated testing her threat but caught his wife’s familiar glare and thought twice. “Varric, you want Sebastian out of Kirkwall, I seem to remember a few years back he tried to do just that. He left and the city nearly destroyed itself again.”

Varric was pleased he had an ally in this even if it did come in the form of Anders. Khrys was an ally too but he understood her need to balance the situation. “That won’t happen this time.”

“Ensure that it won’t,” Khrys said and Varric’s mouth worked but nothing came out, she was taking a hardline with this probably because she was annoyed. Every year there was something about Kirkwall, more fighting, feuding, accusations that Sebastian was a tyrant.

“Kirkwall has no stable government; no one will accept the position of Viscount so the criminals try to take over every chance they get,” Sebastian informed and Varric rolled his eyes.

“So forcing your men on the city is the answer?” Varric questioned. “Admit it, Anders is right…you’re a tyrant with a grudge.”

Sebastian was growing irritated with that word being tossed around. “The next person who calls me a tyrant will be missing my aid when they need it the most,” He hissed his tone full of venom. He’d heard that people likened him to a tyrant; largely those people came out of Markham and Kirkwall. Sebastian wasn’t kidding; he had no problem leaving this ungrateful bunch to burn when they came crawling to him for aid.

“Sebastian,” Khrys warned but she could understand his irritation. He didn’t appreciate the attacks on him. All he was trying to do was keep the Free Marches stable and safe but people didn’t see it that way, all they saw was a Prince who took Wycome and executed it’s Duke, invaded Kirkwall and still hadn’t left, and took Markham by force to protect Ostwick.

“Apologies, Your Worship,” he said quickly and collected himself again resuming the calm, collected demeanor he always had. Khrys forgave him with a nod and a sympathetic expression.

“Okay…Varric, I understand your frustration, 20 years is a long time,” she began and Varric got this sinking feeling, he didn’t like how that began, “we need to Free Marches stable and like it or not Kirkwall seems to be that key so here is my compromise: you accept the Viscount position, Sebastian, you will accept the change in power and withdraw slowly. Your men will help the city guard maintain order and provide whatever aid they need to make the power transition go smoothly. Sebastian, if all goes well I want you out of Kirkwall at the end of 6 months if not sooner,” she declared her edict firmly as Sebastian and Varric looked at each other trying to decide if they were okay with this situation. “Can you both swallow that?”

Varric nodded slowly and Sebastian was a little more reluctant. “I can.” Varric replied.

Sebastian’s first thought was ‘no’ but he thought twice about this. “If that is your wish, Your Worship.”

 _“Holy shit she pulled it off!”_ Varric laughed to himself. Sebastian would do whatever she told him to but it still counted it as a victory over the pious Prince.

Sebastian didn’t know what to feel, Khrys was his ally and his friend, and she always understood his reasoning for doing what he did in the Free Marches. He couldn’t help but take this personal, especially coming from Khrys of all people. He fumed quietly masking his offense about the whole thing. Anders had a point, but as hard as he tried he couldn’t get the image of the Kirkwall Chantry being destroyed in the blink of eye out of his mind. All those people, Elthina, people who were completely innocent, gone with the firm stamp of a mage’s staff.

His quiet fuming would probably be misconstrued as a sore loser, a tyrant pissed off that he lost a city but they would be wrong. The memories about what happened haunted him, the idea that he couldn’t bring the person responsible to justice, and the insult to injury…that person was within striking distance. All he needed was his bow and a single arrow and the thousands dead because of Anders’ hissy fit would be avenged.

Sebastian missed the last words of the meeting and didn’t realize that he had until people began to disperse. He moved away and couldn’t help but briefly lock eyes with Khrys although he said nothing.

Anders couldn’t resist, Sebastian was quietly fuming like a child who lost his favorite toy. “Tyrant,” he said bluntly and Sebastian paused in mid step. His teeth were going to crack if he clinched his jaw any tighter. His tightly controlled restraint was admirable, Anders gave him that.

Tess cursed and elbowed her husband. “You just can’t help yourself can you?” she asked and Anders shrugged but got the message from her glare, ‘shut up or I’ll kill you myself’. His shrug would have been more believable if he wasn’t chuckling the whole time.

Cullen flanked Khrys with Dorian on her other side. “That went better than expected,” Cullen commented and Khrys smiled slightly.

“Any meeting that doesn’t end in bloodshed is one in the win column,” Dorian added and she snorted as she eyed Sebastian and Anders. She wasn’t sure what new mess she had unleashed between Starkhaven and Kirkwall or between Anders, Sebastian, and Varric. It would be interesting to see but to be frank; it was about time Sebastian let Kirkwall stand on its own no matter his feelings toward it or the man he was actually hunting.

Khrys let them move ahead of her as she called to Sebastian. She needed to talk to him to make sure her friend and ally was going to remain that way. “Sebastian.”

The Prince stopped and turned toward her, the tense expression he had was enough for her to realize that he wasn’t thrilled about this. “Inquisitor.” He regarded and she raised her eyebrows to that. He usually called her something religious, Herald or Worship but not usually just ‘Inquisitor’ in a tightly curt tone.

“It’s not personal, Sebastian.” She assured looking up at him.

He didn’t doubt that. “I never said it was, Inquisitor.” He replied but his tone was anything but his typical soft and kind one.

Khrys scoffed. “Then why do you sound like you’re ready to kill me, Anders, and Varric?” she asked and he set his jaw again.

“I promise you Kirkwall will fall apart.” His tone was blunt and serious but it was hard to tell if he was speaking from the command experience or the vendetta that drove him.

“You don’t know that.” She replied flatly and saw the calm controlled Prince’s face fall to what could only be described as sardonic.

“I do and it will.”

“Then I’ll deal with it if it comes to that.”

“You mean _I’ll_ deal with it.” He snapped and she sighed as he closed his mouth regretting his tone with her. “I apologize, Herald, I am as always, at your service.”

His words would have been more convincing if she could literally hear him grinding his teeth. She could understand his irritation but she trusted him to use common sense. Sebastian turned and began to walk away irritated with the topic of Kirkwall. “Sebastian.” She called and heard the Prince stop and turn toward her with a huff.

“I am a man of my word, My Lady Herald; I will honor your edict.” He said giving her a bow before leaving. Truer words were never spoken; Sebastian kept his word no matter what it was. He vowed to avenge his family, retake his birthright, take Kirkwall, and hunt Anders down. With the exception of bringing Anders to justice Sebastian was doing pretty well. Khrys sighed, satisfied with his words and took a minute before following everyone else back onto the main hall.


	9. Anders

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Nine: Anders

 

As a healer, Anders was naturally outgoing and caring. He always wanted to help those who actually needed help. In the Wilds the locals learned that he was a healer and suddenly fugitive Anders had several patients. Mostly he healed minor injuries and broken bones but occasionally he got strange illnesses or something worth scratching his head over. Skyhold had healers, both conventional and mage, but when he was in Skyhold people flocked to him. People from Herald’s ventured up or requested his services and those in Skyhold usually sought him out. When they didn’t find him he found his own patients just walking down the hall. He had an uncanny ability to find someone who was sick as they were passing him.

Three days he’d been in Skyhold and he was actually relaxed, most of the attendees from the party had cleared out, however Sebastian was still there. That bothered him more than anything; bastard was probably waiting for him to leave. He was relaxed until about an hour ago, now he was a little aggravated and wanted to see the Inquisitor. When he asked Josie about Khrys’ whereabouts she pointed him toward Cullen’s office.

Anders was usually approachable when he was comfortable but not this time, he was aggravated so if anyone said anything in passing he didn’t hear it as he moved with purpose through the rotunda and across the bridge to Cullen’s roost.

 **

Inside the office he saw Cullen and Khrys on the same side of the desk going over whatever important military information Cullen had for her. He respected Cullen as one of the few good Templars, he never wanted to hurt anyone; he only wanted to keep people safe. Mages, civilians, and Templars alike. He even forgave him for hauling him back to Kinloch after one of his escape attempts. In Kirkwall his feelings toward Cullen soured a little bit due to the tension between the mages and Templars until it all hit the fan and Cullen stood against Meredith. Anders actually felt like he could count on Cullen and even trusted him. That spoke volumes coming from someone like Anders who had such a checkered past with Templars.

“I need to talk to you, Khrys,” Anders said bluntly as he came to stand before Cullen’s desk.

Khrys and Cullen stopped their conversation and looked at him then to each other. “Umm…okay,” she responded sensing that it was serious…at least serious to him. “Cullen, could you give us the room?”

The commander nodded politely. “Of course,” he answered and withdrew passing Anders on the way out.

Anders’ head followed Cullen out. The commander looked more haggard than normal, pale, scruffy, and tense. His bone to pick with the Inquisitor was momentarily forgotten and replaced with the healer in him. “He does not look well,” he commented as the door closed behind Cullen.

“His tonic’s not working anymore. Mornings are always rough on him now,” Khrys informed and leaned back on Cullen’s desk trying to figure out why Anders just barged in. “What did you need?”

Anders pushed Cullen’s health issues to the back of his mind and returned his attention to Khrys. “Why am I the last to know that my son has joined the Inquisition?” Anders demanded in a curt tone.

“Maybe because you are a little unapproachable to Malcolm,” she replied without thinking about the response and Anders blinked taking offense at that and stepped toward her.  
“Are you giving me parenting tips? Is that what this is? You think you understand what goes on between me and my son?”

Khrys realized she made an error as soon as she said it; it wasn’t her place to tell him how to raise his son or to get in the middle of whatever they constantly disagreed on. “Anders,” she started and held up her hand in surrender. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, but you two fight all the time and, to be honest, none of us know why.”

“Good,” he replied sharply. “It’s not your business. It’s not anyone’s business.”

Anders was a bit like Dorian when it came to their children, overprotective and frustrating, so she decided to try the same tactic she used on Dorian. “He is looking for a place to belong, to do something. He can’t stay locked away in the Wilds forever. He asked me and I said yes.”

Anders scoffed and reminded her of Dorian. “You said yes…just like that? You didn’t bother to talk to me or Tess, you just said ‘yes’?”

Khrys rolled her eyes. “Not blindly…I questioned his reasoning and even had Dorian talk to him. I said yes,” she answered. “You know what he can do…he’s a powerful mage and an even better rogue. You can’t let his talents go to waste in the Wilds.”

“He’s my son, Khrystabel,” Anders snarled firmly. “My son. You do what you like with your daughter but Inquisition agents are killed, captured, or never seen again…” he trailed off as the heart of his objection came to light.

Khrys stepped toward him and was sympathetic to his concern. “Anders, Malcolm knows how to protect himself…you and Tess raised him well,” she explained softly looking at his tall figure. “And I’d never send him out alone.”

None of this was easing his concern, how could it when only half the truth was known. There were things that people didn’t know, private things that involved his family that not everyone in the world needed to know about. “That’s not the point,” he snapped harshly and turned from her frustrated and worried.

Khrys grumbled. “By the Creators, damnit, what is the point?”

“Malcolm is-…” he began then seemed to think twice and changed direction. “I love my son…no matter what anyone thinks or says or how often we fight; I don’t want to see him hurt and the Inquisition has a tendency to lose agents.”

“Anders, I’d never willingly place him in danger but all I can ask is that you trust me and him,” she said softly her tone sweet and kind.

Anders ordinarily would have been fine with trusting her, he’d entrusted Malcolm in her care before but this was a different situation. There were things that she didn’t know about, things that no one but a select few knew about. “You’re asking me to trust you with my only child’s safety to join an organization that is fending off threats from all directions; serious, dangerous threats.”

“Anders, how many times have you saved my life?” she asked and he blinked confused before answering.

“I don’t remember,” He replied showing that his sense of humor was still intact.

Anders was credited with not only saving her once but twice. He took on the Nightmare at Adamant in a full rage and Vengeance/Justice extricated itself from Anders giving him and everyone else the opportunity to escape as the Nightmare was occupied with a very angry spirit. However, the second time was more personal. She had contracted some sort of illness that nearly killed her when she was five months pregnant. She could remember two things about that time: her crystal clear dream of Solas being there with her and a fever induced delirious image of Anders hovering over her. She remembered the worry and concern on his face and those white healing orbs from his palms passing over her head a few times.

“Once at Adamant, when you saved us all and again 16 years ago,” she went on and Anders stood and listened quietly. “You saved me and Bree. Dorian trusted you with me and his child when everyone told him that I was going to die. And 5 years ago Bree got sick, I didn’t want any other healer to touch her but you because I don’t care what anybody says about you, what you did, who you were, what you are, I trust you. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never let me down…even when you were rapidly going mad.”

Anders swallowed but was silent for a few moments. She could soothe skittish horses with that voice of hers and she successfully chilled him out. It helped mainly to know that Khrys wasn’t just going to use Malcolm as cannon fodder, she was going to train him as an agent and he knew all too well what his son was capable of. “Who are you going to pair him with?”

Khrys shrugged, her first thought was Fenris but know Anders’ feelings toward the Elf and vice versa she entertained others also. “Fenris, Loranil…maybe Cole,” she rattled off and Anders actually seemed to accept that.

Anders grunted his thoughts and sighed. “Doesn’t seem like I have a say in the matter…I’m sorry I…”

Khrys shook her head and offered him a smile. “Anders, it’s no trouble,” she said with a smile. “I’ve become somewhat of a professional at dealing with nervous fathers lately.”  
Anders’ realized that he really didn’t have a choice in the matter; he sighed again satisfied with what he had no control over. He gave her a slight chuckle, there was nothing more that he could say and it was frustrating for him.

The door opened and Cullen poked his head in. “Excuse me, Inquisitor, another report,” he said quietly and Khrys gestured for him to come back in. “Still no word on Sutherland,” he continued as he passed her the report.

Khrys took the report and read it as Cullen patiently waited. His eyes flickered to Anders who was staring at him with an uncomfortable gaze. “Headache, Commander?” Anders asked and Cullen brushed it off.

“I’m fine,” he replied bluntly but Anders had heard that a 100 times from him.

“I can help you, Cullen, let me try,” he pressed and Cullen’s response was the same.

“No,” he replied again bluntly and Anders sighed at his stubbornness.

“Khrys…” Anders appealed and Cullen grumbled.

“I said, no, don’t go to her,” Cullen snapped at the apostate that had irritated him since the day they met.

“Cullen, you’ve had that headache for three days…let him help.”

“I have two children and my wife has been sick; of course I have a bloody headache. I don’t need any help,” he snapped again.

“I’ll make it an order if it makes you feel better, let him help, Cullen.”

Cullen didn’t try to hide the grumble and irritated sigh. He visibly relented and gave Anders an irritated expression. The Healer smirked at his ability to antagonize the former Templar. “Hold still,” Anders instructed as his right palm lit up with the familiar white orb of creation magic. The mage put his hand on Cullen’s left temple and Cullen shuddered at the familiar tingling feeling associated healing magic.

There was nothing Anders could do for the widespread nerve pain that was associated with the Lyrium withdrawal. He could temporarily take the pain away but that was all. Anders closed his eyes to try to get to the root of Cullen’s headache; if it wasn’t due to the withdrawal he could heal it and call it a win. This wasn’t the case this time; Anders strained a little trying to heal as much as he could. He added his other hand placing it over Cullen’s chest, his strain became obvious and a few moments later he stopped and took a half a step back shaking his head sharply.

Cullen felt a thousand times better as the headache and the nerve pain left him like a wash of water going over him. He let out a loud breath of relief; he hadn’t felt this good in months. Only Anders had the power and talent to do this, every other mage healer that tried never came close.

Khrys furrowed her brow at the two of them, that wasn’t a typical session with Anders. “Anders, are you alright?” she asked as the mage had bent forward bracing his hands on his thighs.

He nodded and composed himself. “That’s some significant progression of the Lyrium withdrawal, Commander,” he commented and stood up straight. “I just took the pain away…I didn’t heal it but if you don’t get a handle on it again it will kill you.”

Cullen understood that, everyone involved with improving or reformulating his tonic knew that. The race was one because the speedy progression of Lyrium withdrawal would kill him and for Khrys, Ariel, his kids, and about a dozen other people that wasn’t an option. He knew what it would do to him and he knew that his rejuvenated feeling right now was temporary but he wasn’t going to waste it. “Thank you, Anders,” he said sincerely and extended his hand to the mage that irritated him.

Anders nodded in response and shook the commander’s hand firmly. “My pleasure, Commander.”

“Inquisitor, if you don’t mind, could we pick this up later?” he asked and Khrys giggled softly while nodding.

Cullen was pain free for the first time in a long time so he preferred to spend that time doing something other than being the Inquisitions general. The nearly 50 year old Templar quickly but politely excused himself from the Inquisitors presence and scurried out heading in the direction of his home across the top of the battlements above Herald’s Rest.  
Anders raised his eyebrows as Khrys went back to looking over the new message that came in. “Well,” Anders began humorously as he looked out toward the commander rapidly disappearing from his sight. “Ariel better brace herself. Hopefully he bothers to take her upstairs and not right there on the bar.”

Khrys tried and failed to stifle her laugh so it came out a snorting snicker. “I can picture it now,” she chuckled.

“Pervert,” Anders shot back with a grin.

Her glare was sarcastic as she turned to the desk laying the message down on it for Cullen to pour over later. “Not what I meant, Mage,” she said and thought about it for a second noticing that was exactly how it sounded.

“Well, it’s what I meant…I think I’m going to go find my wife now,” he continued and chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him. “Inquisitor,” he nodded and walked out leaving her to chuckle; she’d spent enough time doing girl talk with Tess to know that Anders had a monstrous sexual appetite. She chuckled to herself as he left.

 **

Anders had every intention of tracking down his wife for a little play time, on the way across the bridge he grinned to him himself thinking of all the things he could and would do once he found her. Having a heart to heart with Khrys mellowed him out but aside from finding he wife to play with, he needed to find her to apologize for snapping at her.  
Tess was to pick between he and his son and he hated that she was forced to be in the middle mediating their disputes. Malcolm was willful and stubborn, fine qualities but they were traits he’d inherited from Anders. There were things in Malcolm’s life that were beyond his control and try as Anders might he just couldn’t let them go. The Inquisition would be good for him, give him a purpose, something to do besides drive he and Tess crazy and pester the local Chasind tribesman, and Anders trusted Khrys and Cullen to keep him as safe as they could and not misuse his power and talents.

He made his way across the bridge and through the rotunda that had one of his absolute favorite features in it. That stunning mural painted by Solas, he thought that after what had happened between them 15 years ago and what had taken place since Khrys would have destroyed it out of spite. Anders wouldn’t blame her, Solas broke her heart twice, he would have destroyed it, but, alas, the mural stood…depicting Inquisitor Lavellan’s victory against the Darkspawn abomination Corypheus.

He had to cross the main hall to get to where he needed to go, in his travels he found Dorian and Balian actually seeming like they were having a quiet lunch at one of the tables. Dorian was different when Balian was around, not the nervous father or…whatever he was to Khrys, he was himself in all his sarcastic, annoying, charming, bluster. You could see that he loved Balian and could also see how much Balian loved him in return. There were complications, of course, no romance was perfect; Balian served Starkhaven and was about as loyal as a damn Mabari. Anders had nothing against the Elf, he was a damn good warrior and a good man but his loyalty to Sebastian made him cautious. One word from his master and he’d kill Anders without a hesitation. Balian’s mother was the Clan Keeper so if there was any warrior who would work around magic to kill someone it was Balian and if it came to that Anders knew he didn’t stand a fucking chance.

Balian was half sitting on the foot of the table snacking on something and chuckling at something Dorian had said while Dorian was seated with his back to the isle finishing a drink. “Oh, look, the sweet love birds. Wonderful flowers of romance blossoming in Skyhold…” Anders began as he couldn’t resist the chance to needle his nemesis’ bodyguard. Balian actually rolled his eyes at the interruption. “What are you still doing here?” he added the question unmistakably aimed at Balian.

Balian didn’t answer; he wasn’t easily baited by Anders or anyone. You could annoy him…Dorian was good at that but he had enough self-control to let it all roll off his back. Dorian, however, did respond. “Do you mind? We were in the middle of private conversation.”

“Just curious when our Starkhaven ‘friends’ will be off so I can give them a proper farewell.” Dorian cussed Anders out under his breath but his irritation was apparent. Anders cocked his head to the side seeing the remains of a hickey on the side of Balian’s neck. “Though I don’t think my sendoff will be quite as enjoyable as Dorian’s apparently was.”  
Balian smirked causally taking a drink from his cup. “Few are,” he replied and could feel Dorian’s look, part of it was blushing and the rest of bristling to ‘few’. “Did you need something specifically or did you just come here to test me again?”

Anders’ chuckle made Dorian want to strangle the mage. He always did this, no matter what warnings he got. He antagonized Sebastian and Balian, part of him commended his spirit the rest of him wanted to toss him from the battlements. “It’s always fun to test you…I wonder how far you would go. You’ve intrigued me…you serve Sebastian yet you don’t want to kill me on sight.”

Balian’s half smile to the healer was enough to make Dorian weak in the knees. “Not yet,” he said and Anders found himself actually enjoying the banter, as dangerous as it was.  
Anders played along with the tight sniping that was going on between them. He believed Balian when he said he wouldn’t hurt him or try to kill him unless Anders or Sebastian gave him a reason, still…bantering with the man didn’t seem like the wisest course of action. “Oooo…and here I was going to offer you my services and have a go at that ruined arm of yours.”

Balian still hadn’t move from his perch on the end of the table, he scoffed and finished off his drink. “If my mother couldn’t heal it 20 years ago when it happened you certainly can’t. Magic doesn’t work that way…for a healer you’d think you’d know that.”

Ander smirked to him. “You under estimate my abilities as a Healer, Balian the Bear.”

That garnered an annoyed expression as Balian glared at the ceiling then looked down at Dorian, he hated all those names people gave him. “I find the person who’s spreading my bloody nicknames I swear I’ll kill them.”

Dorian stood stifling his chuckle at his lover’s exasperation. “Alright, Anders, you’ve had your fun now please…go before he tosses you off the battlements and I have to explain that to Khrys.”

Anders chuckled and slapped Balian’s right shoulder. “Tell your Master I’ll see him later.”

Balian had to give it Anders…he wasn’t afraid to rattle the cage and smiled slightly as Anders disappeared from him. “Man likes to gloat when he’s untouchable.”  
Dorian scoffed. “Man likes to gloat period. Should have seen him when he was still possessed. Not as much humor…twice as dangerous.”

 **

Anders found his quarters empty, Tess wasn’t there, it wasn’t like he expected her to just be pining around waiting for him especially after he was a bit of an ass to her and to his son a few hours earlier. So instead of seeking her out he simply waited.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked as Tess closed the door. His tone was kind, not the snappy one he had earlier.  
“Talking to Sebastian,” she said with a smile as she walked up to her husband.

Anders’ brow furrowed, his lovely wife confounded him sometimes. Knowing the animosity between her husband and Sebastian she still maintained a friendship with the Prince. Tess always did have a way with people; the ability to mediate between factions, to be able to stay on good terms was everyone when he could barely be tolerated by his own. Mages either hailed him as a hero or wanted his head on a spit. He didn’t quite have the knack for people that his wife had. “And what did the pious Prince have to say?”

Tess shook her head to him. “Nothing that you would care to hear,” she smiled knowing that it really wasn’t anything he’d want to hear.

Anders slowly made his way toward her with an expression that she knew well, he was prowling, the mage wanted to play. “I remember you had a crush on him for a time…are you trying to replace me?”

Tess giggled quietly as he drew closer and closer making her look up to keep eye contact with him. “Well, he is quite handsome and sweet and nice.”

Anders’ wicked smile was something she was used to. “You don’t like ‘nice men’, Love, you like dangerous ones,” he said matter-of-factly and snatched her close to him. Tess bit her lower lip, he was absolutely right. Her attraction to Anders was partly due to the danger that his ‘other half’ posed. Justice was dangerous and loving Anders was dangerous. She liked the violent side of him when he and Justice disagreed, even when Justice catapulted into Vengeance. She kissed him and giggled like a teenager as they tumbled back onto the bed.

 **

The skies over the Frostbacks had turned stormy and grey but it wasn’t raining, Skyhold was about to become a mucky, muddy mess. Anders leaned on the stone overlooking the courtyard and he could sense the storm coming in and could smell it in the air. His son had vanished after the spat that morning between them. His son had joined the Inquisition. That was something he was going to have to figure out how to live with, it wasn’t that he joined, it was the danger that it posed.

Talking to Khrys and then to his wife convinced him that he had to accept this, as aggravating as that was. He didn’t want to go looking for him, Malcolm knew nearly every nook and cranny of Skyhold so he’d probably never find him if he didn’t want to be found. Taking that into consideration, he decided to wait.

After the argument with his father that morning, Malcolm went for a ride…a long one. His father was stubborn and bull-headed but then again, so was he. When it came to Malcolm wanting to branch out anywhere his father tended to get over protective and wanted to hide him away. Malcolm was a unique individual.

He had gone down to Herald’s after his ride with some of the other agents that he’d met. On the way back up he and the rest of them got caught in a downpour that soaked him to the bone. He was soaked; his boots squelched on the stone and he was dripping water as he walked, he couldn’t wait to get out of his soaked clothes.

Malcolm contemplated simply turning around and walking out of his chambers when he saw his father sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the table. He didn’t and closed the door behind him eyeing his father trying to figure out just what he wanted.

“By all means…make yourself at home,” Malcolm commented as he shook his head sharply to shake the water from the rain off his unruly locks.

Anders chuckled softly at his son’s sense of humor though he heard the curt tone, the lingering feelings from their argument earlier that day. He noticed Malcolm’s appearance, wet from head to toe, and boots caked in mud. He’s obviously been caught in the downpour. “Some people take their clothes off when they bathe.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes and dropped his daggers onto the table Anders’ feet were propped up on. “What do you want?” he asked getting to the point. He practically ignored the fact that he was there as he started to discard the drenched articles of clothing.

Anders rocked back in the chair balancing on the back legs as his son moved around the room behind him removing his muddy boots. “I’m sorry about earlier,” He said after a long pause. Malcolm had moved onto trading out his wet clothes with dry ones but didn’t say anything. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” It wasn’t the first time Anders had done that and Malcolm simply took it in stride. They had a strained relationship but it wasn’t like they hated each other. He dropped the chair back to all fours and turned to see why his son was curiously quiet on the subject of ‘father apologizing for being an asshole’. “Are you going to say anything or just pretend to be mute?”

Malcolm pulled the dry shirt over his head and felt better that his clothes were dry again. “What do you want me to say?” he huffed back.

Anders stood, realizing that he was going to need to make the first move here. “I just want you to be safe…you’re my son, Malcolm, and the Inquisition is dangerous organization.”

“Doesn’t seem to concern you much when I’m running around the Wilds killing off Sebastian’s bounty hunters or people who just want to kill you on principle,” he shot back and Anders straightened, Malcolm had a point.

“Don’t you dare think that I don’t-…,” he began to snap and then stopped himself, “It’s a dangerous world for people like you…people like us.”

“You don’t have to say that…I’m out in it…all the time,” he hissed and Anders sighed heavily relenting to the fact that he was stuck with this.

“Malcolm, I don’t want to fight about this. I just want you to take care of yourself; I know I can’t stop you from doing this and that I really shouldn’t try to stop you,” Anders said and Malcolm sighed. “Have you talked to Lily about this?”

That question caught Malcolm off guard and he blinked. “Uhh…,” he stammered, “yeah…she didn’t object.” Anders nodded adding a half smile. “She actually encouraged me. Are we done here, Dad?”

Anders sighed heavily and nodded to him. “Yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Yeah…just take care of yourself; there are very few people we can trust out there.”

Malcolm sighed as he watched his father walk out, for as long as he could remember Anders had protected him. He was seven when his abilities manifested and Anders had taught him everything he knew. Anders could see the power in him even when he was kid but his power came with a drastic price and that was what Anders constantly protected him from.


	10. Consequences

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Ten: Consequences

The last Grand Tournament was held in Amaranthine hosted by Arlessa Delilah Howe, sister to the Warden-Constable of Vigil’s Keep and the Inquisition was bringing back the reigning Champion, Thom Rainier. Over the past 10 years Thom had done the Inquisition proud and won three, it was a hobby of his that he was really good at.

The tournament was in full swing; archery, melee, and the main event of jousting. Archery was a big event, bigger than in most other tournaments where Archery took almost second even third seat to jousting and the sword, but to Sebastian it was just as important. It wasn’t Sebastian’s choice to host tournaments most of the time they were his wife’s idea. Evelyn knew the reputation her husband had throughout the Free Marches, he was either loved or hated but there was really no middle ground, so hosting tournaments was a good way to gain approval. Sebastian wasn’t the tyrant some people called him he just did what no one wanted to do.

The rules for the tournaments were fairly simple, nobility or those of rank could compete from any country, Inquisition agents could compete, but no mages were allowed from any country or organization. That frustrated Malcolm, he had asked to compete as an Inquisition agent but Sebastian said no. He could have given a special dispensation; he would have for Fenris if he ever asked, but Malcolm was not Fenris. Sebastian was friends with Fenris and had been since Kirkwall, and Malcolm was Anders’ son so there was no way he was going to give him any kind of special treatment.

The sword was fun to watch but most people preferred the joust; nothing more romantic than the Knight on horseback, the majestic competition. Iron Bull was the only Qunari even present at the tournament and was allowed to compete due to his service with the Inquisition. It was almost unfair but it was certainly fun to watch.

Dorian wasn’t too terribly keen on watching Iron Bull lay waste to the competitors and let himself be distracted by the guard standing to the right of Sebastian, an ever present guard dog.

Balian looked like the gleaming knight of the fairy tales. His armor was polished and shiny, made of silverite with the onyx chainmail under that and the dark red and black fabric of Starkhaven’s colors. Balian was noticeably different from the rest of the Prince’s guards. As his personal guard and his Champion, his armor had a black cloak and Sebastian’s personal crest on it indicating his direct service to the Prince. He was widely known as the best warrior in the Free Marches and not many wanted to face him. He was fierce and obeyed his Prince usually without question. Sebastian was a moral man so he never gave Balian an order that clashed with his honor but when he was sent into a situation by the Prince’s order it typically meant that the meeting was going to end in a fight.

Dorian couldn’t help but stare at his lover in his formal armor, his traveling armor was far too tarnished and worn, and he looked good, handsome and sexy. Standing guard by Sebastian’s side Balian was focused, but he caught Dorian looking at him and cracked a half smile. Despite being a Dalish Elf, Balian was chased at court by every woman who was curious about what the kind and fierce warrior was like as a lover. Just why exactly did they call him ‘Balian the Bear’? Balian only smiled and charmed them but never acted on any invitation, not since he gave himself completely to Dorian.

Dorian would love to see his warrior compete in the melee or even the joust. As a swordsman, he was unmatched in the Free Marches and he was a capable horseman as well but Dorian wasn’t sure if he’d ever jousted before, but since being appointed as Sebastian’s Champion he didn’t participate in the tournaments. He didn’t like everyone knowing what he was capable of; they already knew he was a lucky son of a bitch for surviving a Bear attack alone. If they wanted to see him fight all they had to do was challenge the Prince in single combat and they’d see it first-hand…right up until Balian killed them, but at least they’d have their answer.

His attention was drawn from Balian to the familiar Qunari coming before the Prince. The Qunari paid his respects to the Prince and stated, “They say your Champion is the best warrior in the Free Marches.” Balian narrowed his eyes slightly and could tell Dorian was on the edge of his seat without needing to look.

“Are you challenging the Prince?” Evelyn asked from her husband’s left.

“Not at all, Princess,” Bull answered respectfully. “I am challenging Ser Balian Lavellan himself.”

Balian remained silent and still but was cussing in every language he knew on the inside. Balian had stumbled into a lover’s spat when their relationship had still been new. Dorian’s lack of interest in a commitment frustrated Bull so when he learned that Dorian found another man and appeared committed, it had angered him. Balian didn’t blame him for feeling so but that didn’t mean he was going to give him a pass. Bull had never gotten the opportunity to challenge him until now; you could say he was a scorned lover. Scorned lovers were bad to begin with but a scorned Qunari lover probably added new depth to that mess.

Sebastian gave Bull a curious expression, this wasn’t the first time someone had wanted to challenge Balian, and most were people who thought they could do a better job than a ‘knife-ear’. Balian never accepted the challenge, not worth his time. “Ser Balian may fight if he wishes to; it is his right after his years of faithful service to Starkhaven and to me.” Sebastian said effectively passing the buck to his Champion.

“How about it, _Bearkiller_?” Bull prodded and Balian narrowed his eyes at him, this wasn’t a challenge to find out how good he was or questioning his competence because he was an Elf…this was over Dorian. He was more than happy to fight Bull in Dorian’s name, the first time they met Bull threatened him. Given the personal nature of this challenge Balian made an exception, he’d proudly fight for his lover.

“If it pleases you, My Prince?” he requested knowing he already had the permission from him; it was a formality he was used to now and Sebastian nodded.

As he moved off the dais to the lists he didn’t need to look at Dorian, he could already feel the Mage’s gaze burning through his back. The murmuring in the crowd grew as Starkhaven’s people were about to see the Champion fight. “Balian,” he heard Dorian in his warning tone but he ignored him. He handed his sword off to a squire now actually looking forward to fighting the Qunari. He was apprehensive since he’d sworn never to fight anything bigger than a bear without help…Bull was definitely bigger than a bear.

He needed to change out equipment giving Dorian enough time to scurry over to Bull on the other side. “Bull!” Dorian snapped getting the enormous Qunari’s attention on the other side of the railing. “Be gone!” he hissed to the people that were crowded around. “What in the void are you doing?”

Bull turned to look at the Tevinter mage he’d spent so much time with and leaned on the haft of his blunted training axe. “Challenging your lover, as it would seem, seeing if he’s good enough for you.”

“Bullshit,” he snarled back. “You want to hurt him because you’re still angry.”

Bull snorted in response. “He’s supposed to be the best and I fight the best,” he dismissed. “Take whatever reason that lets you sleep better.”

“Iron Bull, do not hurt him,” Dorian warned in as serious a tone as he could conjure.

Bull chuckled, which only furthered to anger the mage. “It’s a fight, be serious.”

Dorian’s anger bubbled more as Bull brushed this whole thing off trying to make him think it was inconsequential. “I have never been more serious, Iron Bull, if you hurt him-…”

Bull’s scoff angered him further. “If he’s half the warrior they say he is he won’t get hurt…much.”

“Bull, I swear if you hurt him I’ll conjure up every type of arcane torture I can and kill you slowly,” Dorian threatened but Bull simply ignored him turning away from him to face his opponent stepping into the arena.

Balian had shed his black cloak and traded his sword for a blunted one but kept his Starkhaven shield. It was better than anything he’d get for training anyway and figured a Qunari wielding a greataxe would have a hefty swing so it was best to go with the best shield he could.

A spark of pride overwhelmed Dorian’s worry, like the bear tooth necklace that Dorian wore Balian wore a token from him. The red and black silk scarf that Balian wore under his armor was the first thing Dorian ever gave him. It was a small matter really, Bree had cut her hand and Balian had given her his scarf to stop the bleeding, Dorian gave him a new one but the fine quality of his was far more than the plain cotton thing he had. That was the first indication that there was something serious between them. Balian had worn it tied to his arm, sometimes on the handle of his sword, but he’d taken to wearing it under his armor; less of a chance it would get lost or covered in blood. Most people believed it was Starkhaven colors. It was more visible though, pulled higher on his neck over his collar. Dorian smiled a little watching Balian take a few practice swings with the blunted weapon warming up his sword arm.

There was nothing he could say that would stop this mess, Balian wasn’t going to back down and Iron Bull was still pissed off about being cast aside.

Dorian went back to his seat as the Herald announced that the fight was about to commence. Khrys looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Dorian, relax, he won’t hurt him.”

“Yes, he will,” Dorian replied curtly. “He’s still angry with me and has no problem taking it out on Balian.”

She’d known Bull long enough to know that he wouldn’t hurt Balian too badly. She’d been there for all the relationship issues between Dorian and Bull, and was there when he met Balian. “Dorian, it’ll be okay,” she reassured.

Dorian wasn’t so sure, he knew Bull better than she did. While he wasn’t vengeful per say, he worried that jealousy would get the better of him. “I’m about to watch the man I love fight the man who I used to bed,” he snapped and Khrys couldn’t help but smile.

It wasn’t the situation but one thing that he said. “‘The man you love’?” she repeated with a grin. “Should I make room in Skyhold?” Dorian was a pain in the ass when it came to commitment, he’d told Balian that he loved him but never announced it to the world.

“Stop right there, Khrystabel,” he snapped as the fight commenced and Dorian contemplated shutting his eyes. Only Michel and Fenris would be able to handedly beat the Qunari mercenary in a straight up fight, that wasn’t a lack of confidence in his love but sometimes size was everything.

Balian flipped the helm face down and turned to face the sight of the most terrifying helm he’d ever seen. Dread, Bull called it…designed to instill fear…congratulations it worked. The fight began but Balian strayed from his normal pattern visible to anyone who trained with him often enough. Most of the time he attacked first to get them on the defensive and control the fight, this time he waited for Bull, he ducked and dodged the power swing and rolled to avoid one. He’d never fought Bull and was using this time to study and calculate. He could make reasonable guesses on someone’s fighting style and what they’d trend toward based on size, experience, weapons; Bull was going to rely on brute force and powerful swings, swings that he needed to avoid.

A few moments later he stopped running and struck, his sword swing was blocked but his shield was wide open. Balian seized the opportunity and landed a powerful shield bash into Bull’s back sending the Qunari stumbling forward into the railing. Bull admitted that hit stung, the little Elf was stronger than he looked.

Bull growled loudly and pushed from the railing attacking Balian again. The attack was fast and forceful, wherever Bull wanted that axe to go is where it went. Balian blocked a few with the shield, ducked one, and attempted to control the fight with a block from his sword. It didn’t work; Bull’s strike broke through his combination block and put him off balance. Trying to regain his composure he wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way for the next hit and a broad swing from Bull’s axe the right side of his face. Balian staggered trying not to fall on his ass and managed to stay on his feet and not touch the railing. Bull backed off acknowledging the hit and waited.

Balian groaned and grimaced behind the helm, that rung his bell. There was a measure of respect for Bull from him; he was waiting until Balian was ready to keep the fight fair. He flipped the face shield up and spit out the accumulated glob of blood out into the sand. He could only imagine Dorian’s reaction to that hit but wasn’t able to get a look at him in the stands. He stood up straight and put the mask back down doing the customary two taps on his shield with his sword indicating that he was ready. This time he attacked first, if he disarmed Bull the fight was over. While Balian was controlling the fight and had Bull on the defensive the Qunari turned the axe into a maul and used it like one, Balian was in the wrong place when that overhead swing came down and used his shield to block. When the axe hit it sent a painful reverberation from his finger tips to his teeth. Balian let out an involuntary cry of pain that now raced up and down his left arm then another as he attempted to skitter away and Bull landed a second hit on his back. He wasn’t going to be beaten, not against him not with his personal stake in it, Balian turned to face him and hit Bull three times in a row with the pommel of the sword. All he could think was ‘low blow’.

Bull probably hadn’t intended to target his weakness but it felt that way and it pissed him off. Bull’s helm stopped him from becoming a bloody mess given all the hits he’d taken to the face but it still stunned after a second or third hit. Bull finally blocked the next hit and literally head-butted Balian. It may have been helm to helm but Balian felt it and blood came from his nose under the shield, the next thing he knew he was being thrown and crashed to the ground about five feet away. This had taken a turn for the worst as he scurried to his feet a little disoriented for a moment or two. As soon as he was on his feet Bull timed his attack and gave him no time to do anything but block. The shield came up and rang out as Bull’s axe hit again. The same pain shot through is arm but he didn’t make a peep this time. Bull failed to dodge or block the swing from Balian’s sword and his helm was clipped causing it to fly off.

Balian tried to keep his mouth shut though his growl of obvious discomfort was an indicator that he was hurt somehow. Blood from his face wasn’t visible behind the mask but some had dripped down onto his pristine armor.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked from Bull to Balian as he judged the match. He knew Balian well, the man was his closest friend…he saw him more than anyone else on any given day. He knew his weakness and most of the time it wasn’t an issue, never interfered with his duties, most matches against Balian ended quickly due to the Elf’s significant battle prowess. He could stop this but knew that Balian wouldn’t appreciate that and watched the match continue.

Balian led with his sword, protecting his already damaged shield arm. Sebastian sat forward as he watched the next few moments unfold. He didn’t see it but Dorian was almost on his feet, Balian was getting beat. They, as did everyone else, watched as Starkhaven’s Champion didn’t go down quietly; he was thrown to the ground, disarmed, and had the great axe to his throat. Balian grimaced behind his helm but conceded the fight.

“Iron Bull,” Sebastian began, he was proud of his Champion win or lose. He didn’t expect Balian to win every fight, just the ones that really mattered. “I believe the match is yours.”

Bull acknowledged Sebastian’s words, moved the axe away from the knight who was flat on his back, and reached down for his opponent. Balian accepted the hand up and was hauled to his feet, despite Bull’s personal affiliation with Dorian, Balian respected him. The Qunari fought him fairly and that went a long way in his mind. Once on his feet he said nothing just paid his respects to Sebastian and made his way out. He wasn’t happy with the outcome but it was over with, he made his point and Bull made his. It was done. For Balian personally, the defeat didn’t bother him too much but on the other hand the Champion of Starkhaven suffered a defeat at the hands of a Qunari mercenary, which was what stung the most about it all, his post could very well be in jeopardy now. This was precisely the reason he didn’t compete, Bull drug his weakness into the light kicking and screaming. Balian made a deal with Sebastian years ago that if he could no longer adequately do his duty he was to be replaced.

**

Balian would return to his post after he cleaned himself up, there was blood on his face, his armor, his back hurt from the hit that was deflected by his armor, and of course his arm ached from his fingers to his shoulder. His mind raced…a collision of everything that he could have done or should have done. He should have declined, like he’d always done, he let it get personal. His job was to protect Sebastian not answer a challenge about scorned lovers.

“Bail…” Dorian stated barging into the chamber he was in. Dorian was so concerned about him, fighting Bull was no easy task and he lost something that probably meant more than any injury he could have sustained. “Are you alright?” Even under heavy armor, there were bruises forming where Bull’s axe had connected. One on his left shoulder was noticeably worse, the blood from his nose was dried but it still was red and sore. Dorian felt his blood burn. “I’m going to kill that fucking Qunari,” he hissed stepping close to examine the bruise on his back.

Balian was the picture of calm as he washed the blood from his face. He shook his head as he dried his face off and made sure nothing was bleeding still. “No. You’re going to leave him alone…he made his point and so did I,” he replied and turned to Dorian. Whatever else took place out there the point was definitely made, he was not a push over so don’t push. “I’m fine.”

That didn’t put Dorian at ease, he didn’t mind people fighting over him, it was a boost to the ego but if it meant Balian got hurt because of that it lost its luster. “Bail, I’m sorry…Bull had no right to-…” Dorian began and Balian put his right hand over his mouth.

“Dorian, I was proud to fight for you and I’d do it again,” he said making Dorian blush. “And again,” he repeated adding a kiss to reiterate that.

Dorian blushed more as Balian turned from him to tend to the rest of his injuries. He reached for a bowl and Dorian could see his left hand shaking as he barely gripped it. He growled at the pain in his arm and put the bowl back down before he dropped it. “Balian, your arm…”

“I’m alright,” he replied quickly through his teeth and turned leaning on the table. His whole arm tingled, from his fingers to his shoulder and he could barely grip anything. His brave face fell as he cradled his bad arm grimacing in pain.

Dorian moved toward him and gently touched his hand. “Let me,” he said softly and gently rubbed his forearm, it was swollen, more than just the mid forearm that was deformed from the initial break. Magic could heal a lot, mend shattered bone but it wasn’t perfect, this was a perfect example of that. He said that his mother tried to use magic to heal his injuries, magic couldn’t heal everything seamlessly.

His arm was shaking under his touch, the scars were one thing for him, they didn’t hurt they were just bad memories, his arm was what hurt the most on a good day. Bull did a number on him. Dorian was no healer but he knew some spells, he could call for Malcolm, the kid was a gifted healer but he suspected Balian would refuse. The white glow of creation magic emanated from him palms trying his best to soothe the pain.

Balian felt the tingle move up his arm and he moaned a sigh of relief. To anyone else he wouldn’t have shown any kind of pain but he didn’t need to hide anything from Dorian. “Oh that’s good,” he breathed and Dorian allowed a smile. “Thank you.”

“Bail,” he began and Balian knew that tone and wasn’t in the mood for this, he needed to get cleaned up and back to his post. He didn’t need another apology from him. He had nothing to apologize for, and he didn’t start it. It wasn’t his fault.

“Dorian, don’t,” he cut him off firmly. “Not your fault, stop apologizing.” Dorian conceded to him, he didn’t like it but didn’t feel like arguing with him about it.

It took a few minutes for him to put his armor back on and Dorian had stayed to help. Getting into full heavy armor was fun on a good day but reached a new level when injured.  
Balian had done this before but he needed to hurry up and return to his post. That was the pride in him talking, he knew Sebastian was fine with him taking a minute but he was just beaten in front of everyone, he needed to return to his post as soon as possible and be visible.

Balian buckled the last gauntlet on when there was a quick tap on his door; he absentmindedly grunted an invite and didn’t expect Sebastian to come through the door. He stammered from mid-sentence to Dorian and put his attention on the Prince. No matter how informal or friendly they had gotten Balian still had a huge amount of respect for him.

Sebastian waved him off and looked to Dorian. “I don’t mean to interrupt but may I have a word with Bail?”

Dorian blinked, he called him Bail…very informal. Very, very informal. “Of course,” he replied, what was he going to say…no? “Excuse me,” he finished and gave Sebastian a nod and left the room.

“Sebastian, I want to apologize,” Balian said and Sebastian’s brow furrowed giving him a curious expression.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

Balian would have thought it obvious. “I…I lost,” he replied.

Sebastian snorted. “I don’t expect you to win _every_ fight, Bail,” he said with almost a smile. “Just the ones that matter.”

“But-…” he began but was silenced when Sebastian held up his hand.

“I know that had that been a true challenge for me or for my family that outcome would have been very different. My faith in you doesn’t stop just because you lost one fight at a tournament against a truly enormous Qunari,” he said and gave a light chuckle making Balian actually smile. “When I needed a Champion the Maker sent me you, I put my faith in you then and every day since.”

Balian nodded at him, Sebastian was truly a great man despite what people thought of him. He would have thought Sebastian would have been annoyed by now after having the same old conversation about this. Balian was a loyal man, not only had he protected him over the years but his family as well. After the first several challenges in the Free Marches people got the message. Going after Sebastian meant dealing with Balian, the Prince was dangerous in his own right unmatched in his archery but Balian was the watch dog that would be there to pounce on anyone who stepped out of line.

“I seem to keep having similar conversation with you about this,” Sebastian said after Balian remained quiet.

Balian nodded in agreement. “I know…I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

Sebastian was okay with the fact that Balian remained humble, it annoyed him to some extent but it was genuinely refreshing to know that no matter what happened his friend knew his place and thus far had no delusions of grandeur. “Come on…I think Dorian is waiting for you in the hall,” he said and Balian gestured for him to go first. “For vowing to never fight anything bigger than a bear alone again I’d say you did well.”

**

Dorian did wait for them in the hall and eventually parted ways as they went back to the dais to continue watching the games. Balian had warned his lover twice already to leave Bull alone but Dorian really couldn’t do that. He managed to find and corner the mercenary while Balian assumed his post.

“Iron Bull,” Dorian said in as unfriendly a tone as he could as he stormed toward him. He thought of all the ways he could inflict pain on him without killing him but managed to control himself. Bull turned hearing his name and looked down at the pissed off mage coming toward him, “are you satisfied?”

It wasn’t a real question but Bull answered it anyway. “You could do worse…at least he can fight,” he replied and Dorian held his position a few paces from him.

“I do not need your approval,” he hissed back. “ _I_ chose Balian not you and while I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt the next time you have a problem take it out on me _not_ him!”

Dorian was correct, picking Balian over him did hurt his feelings…more than he’d ever let on. “Now why would I do that?” he asked bottling it all up, normally Dorian was the one running for the sappy talk but now it was the other way around.

This was frustrating Dorian and he was already mad. “Because you’re hurt, you’re angry, and I understand that.”

Bull growled. “Fine, you want to do this…I waited… _I waited for years_ because you told me you only wanted to commit to your daughter and I was okay with that. No commitments and I understood that,” Bull said his tone an angry one. “I left because you wanted the space and time to raise your girl and when I returned I find that you chose that damn Starkhaven Elf.”

“It wasn’t that simple I’ve told you that already,” Dorian said as his tone remained firm. “I hadn’t intended on it but when it happened it happened and I’m glad that it did. I hurt you and I apologize for it, it was not my intention but I am happy with him.”

Bull straightened and looked down at the mage he was in an uproar over. “Fine.” His tone was tight and he simply turned and walked away.

Dorian sighed. “Bull...” he began before letting everything else die on his lips. He suddenly got the sense someone was behind him and turned seeing Khrys leaning against the stone wall. “Oh, Andraste, tell me you didn’t hear that,” he groaned.

Khrys stood up straight and shrugged as she moved toward him. “I hear everything,” she said and he shook his head. She probably did, she knew everything that went on in Skyhold…better than any spymaster could ever hope for. “Are you alright?”

That was a complicated answer so he lied. “Yes.” He had mixed feelings about what just happened, a part of him still cared about Bull but he loved Balian. “Balian…not so much.”

Khrys waved him off. “He is tougher than he looks, he will be fine,” she said and hooked her arm around his left. “Now answer honestly: are you alright?”

Dorian sighed heavily still unsure how to answer that. “I’ll let you know,” he told her after a few moments of silence.

Khrys was satisfied with that, she’d pin him down and get the truth out of him over a bottle or two of wine when they got back Skyhold. “Fair enough,” she nodded as they headed back toward the games.

**

Malcolm decided that he’d rather spend his time in the stable with the horses then out watching the games, he didn’t get these tournaments. He fought because he had to not because he wanted to do it for show. He fought because he protected himself, his family, his friends…not being allowed to compete simplified things for him. Khrys did ask that he be allowed to compete in the sword but Sebastian refused citing the fact that he’s a mage, there was more to it but the Prince would never admit it. He’d seen Duncan a few times earlier but they’d never gotten the time to talk, Malcolm was off with the Inquisition and Duncan was off getting his ass kissed by just about everyone. Everyone wanted to be on the Fereldan heir’s good side, Malcolm was glad that he didn’t have a declared king that he swore fealty to.

“Well, look at you,” Duncan greeted Malcolm and extended his hand to him in friendship. Malcolm shook it firmly and nodded to him, “Inquisition Agent,” he finished looking Malcolm up and down; there wasn’t a set uniform for the Inquisition aside from the black, red, and white tunic for functions. The armor was all made by the same people, featured similar designs, and insignias. “Congratulations, my friend.”

“Thank you,” the mage replied with a smile. “I’m about as junior an agent as you can get.”

“Nonsense, all that time spent growing up in the Wilds…you got this,” Duncan replied and Malcolm chuckled slightly. “Are you going to compete?” he asked and Malcolm patted Raider’s neck.

He shook his head sharply. “I’m not allowed.”

“You know the host can make an exception if he’s so inclined,” Duncan said and Malcolm gave him a narrowed expression. “Right…your parents don’t get along with the Prince.”

“That’s a generous understatement,” he muttered in reply and Duncan chuckled.

“I could use a new squire,” Duncan suggested and expected the reaction from the mage. Malcolm made a face and a noise that made him chuckle. “So what are you gonna do with yourself this whole time then?”

“Well, there’s a lot of people from the Inquisition here…pretty much whatever Commander Cullen tells me to do,” he said and caught sight of a hooded figure sneaking around the barn. It was obviously female and heading in the opposite direction of the rest of the tournament. He cocked his head and Duncan looked at where he was looking and his own brow furrowed.

“Okay…” Duncan said quietly as he followed after Malcolm who was compelled to check it out. “And who in the Void would this be?” he muttered quietly as Malcolm moved quietly ahead of him. “Assassin?”

Malcolm didn’t get that vibe from the person, he clearly saw a bow and a quiver but she was heading away from all the important people. She was small too, could have been an Elf but with the hood up he couldn’t tell. “I don’t think so,” he replied and kept following her. They moved through the stables, past the paddocks and out to where sheds and piles of hay and straw were.

“So if not an assassin…” Duncan questioned as they peered around a blind corner of a grain shed. What they saw was the hooded person in what looked like an archers practice range. She removed the cloak and the boys raised their eyebrows.

She had dark hair that was braided tightly, wore a tan tunic, brown pants, dark brown boots, and was about 14 or 15 years old. “Clearly a girl,” Malcolm commented and Duncan gave him a ‘no shit’ look.

“Sharp,” Duncan replied sarcastically as the girl loosed a few arrows into the target. “Inquisition’s lucky to have you.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes slightly to the ribbing. “You are hilarious today,” he said with a snort and Duncan’s chuckle drew her attention to them.

“Who are you?” she demanded, while she didn’t aim the bow at them she did have one ready to fire off the short bow.

“Hi,” Malcolm greeted casually with a wave. “I’m Malcolm, this is Duncan.”

She looked quickly from one to the other and recognized the shorter man in armor with the Fereldan coat of arms on the chest. “Prince Duncan…” she said and gave him a bow.

Duncan hated that, Prince this Prince that, but he returned her respect recognizing who she was. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Meghan,” he smiled and Malcolm simply nodded at her respectfully. He hadn’t realized but clearly Duncan had.

Meghan looked him up and down, they were both attractive but Duncan had the calm mischievous look about him. The other one in Inquisition armor unnerved her, he was friendly enough but there was something about him that she didn’t like, he had a dangerous aura. “You also, Highness,” she replied respectfully but Malcolm saw the hard expression directed at him. She was definitely a Vael.

“You’re pretty good with that,” Malcolm commented. “I didn’t see you compete in the Archery.”

Meghan scoffed loudly. “My father wouldn’t let me compete,” she said and quickly turned to fire the arrow that was nocked and ready to go. There were three arrows practically in the same hole dead center in the target and Malcolm lifted an eyebrow.

“His loss,” Duncan said after seeing how good she was with the bow.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the events?” Malcolm asked directly and could feel the glower from Duncan.

Meghan drew another and sent it down range with a grumble. “I watched the Archery that I couldn’t compete in,” she said and fired another one. “I watched Ser Balian and that blighted Qunari try to kill each other…I got bored and came here.”

Duncan snorted and glanced to Malcolm. “I like her,” he said with a grin and Malcolm shook his head snorting.

“I have limited time until my father is finished checking on Ser Balian and my mother wonders where I am so if you two don’t mind…I’d like to practice,” she said her tone was very pointed but not mean. Meghan was a very focused girl, a quality that people either loved or hated. Sebastian had mixed feelings about it, while he appreciated the responsibility his oldest assumed he’d rather see her just be a kid. With functions like this he had certain expectations though, not letting her compete had nothing to do with the fact that she was his daughter, or that she was a girl, or that contests aren’t for little Princesses. She wasn’t old enough, most tournaments had a cut off age of 16 or 17, but she didn’t accept that.

“As you wish, Lady Meghan,” Malcolm said as she loosed another one into the target. They both turned away from her and headed back the way they came. “The next ruler of Starkhaven…I thought Sebastian was tough.”

Duncan chuckled and patted his shoulder. “The Vael’s just don’t like you much, my friend,” he said and Malcolm shrugged, he knew why, he’d done nothing to Sebastian but that didn’t matter. He was his father’s son and while Sebastian knew full well that the sins of the father were not Malcolm’s fault it was hard to see past that day in Kirkwall. “That’s what happens when your father is Starkhaven’s most wanted.”

Malcolm understood that, his life would never be easy once people figured out his parentage and that was a burden that he got to bear. It wasn’t easy but nothing about his life was easy, for as long as he could remember he was different, people gave him strange looks just like Meghan had. Like they could sense something different about him. He couldn’t wait to get out of Starkhaven, the city itself was fine but he couldn’t figure out how to relax here. At lease Sebastian hadn’t brought up his little Bounty Hunter ‘gift’ from several months ago. He wanted to go home, whether that be Skyhold or to the Wilds with Lily he wanted out of Starkhaven.


	11. Jean

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Eleven: Jean

The party that occurred the second night of the games put the initial feast to shame, things were much more relaxed despite the heated tempers between winners and losers of the Archery and Sword. A Rivaini Officer named Honzo took Archery and the Sword came down to Bull and a southern Fereldan Bann’s son. The warrior was superb and Bull had to give it to him, he did extremely well and was able to snatch victory right out from under the Qunari.

Of course Dorian’s evening got worse with the presence of Jean, he didn’t like how comfortable the Orlesian Prince had gotten with his daughter. He wasn’t stupid and had seen a good number of letters pass through Skyhold with his seal addressed to his only child. Khrys still seemed to be unbothered by all this and that only irked him more. She should be just as suspicious or uncomfortable with this as he was. He didn’t trust the Chevalier and never would.

Everyone ‘ooed’ and ‘ahhed’ over Bree and Jean on the dance floor, ‘they made a lovely couple’ was said so many times Dorian thought his head would explode. He didn’t like it, but the smile he saw on his daughter’s face while talking to Jean almost made him crumble. He still didn’t like it…Bree was not for an Orlesian Prince…she was too good for an Orlesian.

**

Duncan got to lead off the inaugural tilt against Ser Constantine, one of Starkhaven’s knights. Constantine was a fine man and a fine knight so to put him against Duncan turned out to be an excellent match. Duncan was inexperienced but he had a natural talent and proved to be a challenge for Constantine. At tournaments the idea of royals competing made most everyone nervous, there were always mages on hand to heal drastic injuries but the agreement was generally the same: If a royal was to compete they were to be treated as any other. Those who intentionally set out to hurt them received a severe and very permanent punishment. Anyone could bow out or even let them win but that was considered to be poor taste and a quick way to get on someone’s bad side.

The young Prince came away from the match the victor, his first lance was shaky but his form was extremely precise if not inexperienced. The more he actually did the better he got and that was displayed during the match with Constantine but his opponents would only get tougher as the day wore on.

**

Jean secured the buckles on his bracers as he chuckled at something squire Philippe said. Philippe was the same age as he and had grown up with the Prince. He was the son of Gaspard’s horsemaster and when it came time for Jean to have a squire he gave the position to Philippe. For the most part every one of the competitors got along. They all knew each other, and of course, the Orlesian’s treated Jean almost too well. When they were competing they treated him like any other, if they took it easy on him or threw the match they knew Jean would eat them alive.

“Hey,” Bree called drawing Jean’s attention.

Jean smiled, surprised to see her but happy all the same. “Bree…what are you doing down here?” he asked and he stepped toward her. He didn’t see very many noble ladies in the stables, they were too afraid they’d get their dresses dirty. He liked the girls who liked to get their hands dirty.

“Come to wish you luck,” she replied with a smile.

Jean’s smile could be seen under his mask, it was good to see her again, her bright, chipper smile made him smile. Her last letter made him think that she wasn’t coming but he’d hoped she would. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he told her that the night before while they were dancing but it was worth saying again.

She giggled blushing and shrugged. “How could I not after that last letter,” she said with a smirking grin and Jean tinged pink, blushing. His last letter was nearly begging her to come but hidden tactfully in Orlesian fluff.

Jean changed the subject as he finally got the blushing under control. “I don’t think your father approves of me.”

Bree cackled, anyone could see that, his evil eye was hard to miss the night before but fortunately he was tempered by just about everyone. People wanted to chat with him, Balian drew the majority of his attention, and she was certain her mom ran as much interference as she could. “Nah, don’t worry about him, he’s just a little miffed about what happened with Bull and Balian…he’ll get over it.”

Jean wasn’t convinced that Dorian would just ‘get over it’; he compared him to himself and his father if someone had come to call on Charlotte. He snorted shaking his head as she moved toward the big roan horse that was decked out in Jean’s chevalier armor.

“I wouldn’t step too close,” he warned. “He’s not the friendliest horse.”

Bree looked from Jean to the horse and gave the roan stallion with pinned ears a curious look. “What’s his name?”

“Mauvais Cheval.”

Bree blinked thinking about her Orlesian. “Bad Horse?” she questioned certain that she had the translation wrong.

Jean chuckled and nodded. “Mau for short…he’s a bit of a monster.”

Bree liked horses with spirit, that’s why she liked Skye. “Aww…he’s sweet,” she smiled as the roan’s ears were fixed back almost like he knew they were talking about him.

Jean knew better, he’d had Mau for years and it wasn’t always a harmonious relationship. “No, not really,” he laughed and she chuckled as well. “When you’re trained as a chevalier you’re allowed to pick a horse from the ones they’ve trained. No one wanted him on account of his poor attitude.”

She laughed put a hand on the roan’s shoulder, the horse’s response to the invasion of his personal space was nothing more than pinned ears and a raise of the head. Philippe interrupted them and spoke quickly to Jean in Orlesian and he gave him a sharp nod.

Jean returned his attention to Bree. “Time to go,” he told her.

Bree stepped closer to the tall Orlesian Prince rising up as far as she could on her tip toes to kiss him on his cheek. When Jean figured out what she was doing he leaned down slightly to help the height gap. Her kiss to his left cheek was light and sweet and he really hadn’t expected it. “Good luck,” she said lowering herself back down to flat feet.

Jean praised his mask…it hid the majority of his blushing. The 19 year old heir of Orlais was blushing after being kissed by the girl he liked. He swallowed hard as she stepped away from him, she needed to return to her seat and he needed to get to the lists. He turned toward one of his guards and said a few words while he gestured to Bree. Her Orlesian wasn’t bad Michel was an excellent teacher but she still wasn’t proficient thought got the basic principle of what he said ‘escort the Lady back to her seat’. She was supposed to have an escort anyway, Malcolm, but she’d ditched him hours ago.

**

Going back to her seat with an Orlesian escort did not please Dorian in the slightest; he dismissed the soldier bearing the seal of de Chalons and cocked his head. “Orlesian escorts now?” Dorian asked sounding irritated.

Bree gave him a look, growing annoyed with his over protectiveness. “Dad, come on-…” she began but he cut her off.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, he had a hunch where she had been but it didn’t make him feel much better.

She didn’t lie, she’d learned long ago that it was damn near impossible to lie to him. Not that she couldn’t do it…he just always saw right through it. “I went to wish Jean good luck,” she answered and Dorian didn’t like that answer.

“Gabriella,” Dorian began sternly.

She grumbled and interjected before the rest of his lecture could come. “Dad, what is the problem? I like him,” she asked as the teenager in her grew more and more frustrated with her father’s behavior.

He held up a finger to silence her. “We are not talking about this now, Gabriella; we will talk about this later,” Dorian responded and she glowered at him. “You are not to see him again. Go sit down,” he added pointing to the stands.

“Dad!” she exclaimed loudly, she didn’t understand. Jean had been nothing but kind since the day she met him.

“Now, Gabriella,” he barked in his father tone.

“Hey,” Khrys hissed at them as they had apparently gotten noisy enough to draw her attention. “What is going on?”

Bree beat her father to the explanation and it was that of a defiant teenager. “Dad is apparently angry that I went to wish Prince Jean-Fredric good luck,” her tone was rude and disrespectful and Dorian glared at her.

“Mind your tone, Child,” he warned firmly and his daughter grudgingly fell silent.

Khrys could understand Dorian reasons but she also understood her teenage daughter. “Gabriella, go sit down,” she instructed and Bree did as she was told leaving her parents to talk alone. “And you…” she began stepping closer to Dorian, “you need to calm down, this is not the time or place to argue with her about this.” Dorian wasn’t the only one who’d seen the letters pouring into Skyhold between the two of them.

Dorian’s frustration with her casual attitude toward their daughters’ potential love life got the better of him. “Well, when is it a good time, Khrystabel? When they’ve absconded together?”

“Not here, Dorian, you’ve already had enough personal things drug through the mud so far do you really want to add our daughter to that pile?” she replied her tone quiet but just a forceful as his was. Dorian’s scowl was one for the books but she ignored it. “I promise when we get back to Skyhold we will talk about this.”

He wasn’t pleased but it was enough to sate him, he was making a scene and while the pampered noble in him missed the ability to make a scene and get away with it he also understood what it meant to maintain a level of decorum. In Tevinter he could raise all the hell he wanted same with Skyhold but it would damage the Inquisitions, more specifically Khrys’ reputation, if he flew off the handle here.

Jean was to joust next against a Free Marcher knight from Tantervale; Bree missed his name because she was more interested in the handsome Orlesian Prince. His Orlesian armor gleamed in the sun and Mau was adorned with formal Chevalier armor. He trotted Mau up to pay his respects to the host and nodded to him, he also respectfully acknowledged his opponent before turning his attention to Bree.

“My Lady Bree,” Jean began moving his horse toward her seated position, “it would honor me if I could wear your favor and be your champion.”

Bree felt giddy and blushed like a school girl and happily removed the thin royal blue shawl she wore rising to her feet to give it to him. She beckoned for the chevalier to come closer and he cued Mau to side pass up to her, waving his hand away she leaned forward over the railing tying the fabric to his right upper arm. She could feel the glare from her father on her back as she secured the shawl onto her champions’ arm.

Dorian’s irritation for the Prince soared to new heights and Bree was not helping. They had been spending way too much time together, he never read the letters that streamed through Skyhold addressed to her bearing his seal but there were so many of them. He didn’t like the idea of his daughter marrying anyone but least of all an Orlesian. Bree was defiant, a quality that Dorian and Khrys spent time pointing fingers at each other for blame, and wasn’t going to give in simply because her father didn’t like her suitor.

**

Jean was a master at the joust despite his age, he was young compared to most of the other knights present and his prowess was apparent as he handedly defeated everyone who came against him. He was taking a few minutes to adjust his armor, rest Mau, and take a few minutes for himself before the next match.

Dorian wandered down to the lists and found Jean quietly tending to his horse. He could have sworn he was looking at Gaspard as the mask made them nearly identical. Jean was the same height and build as his father, same manner, and the same irritating charming confidence.

Jean had expected Dorian to pay him a visit at some point, if he wasn’t comfortable with the growing relationship between him and his daughter then he was actually surprised Dorian hadn’t shown up sooner. “Lord Dorian,” Jean greeted giving him a nod, “what brings you here?”

Dorian barely acknowledged the monarch but maintained a degree of respect simply because of his title. “I see you have been spending a lot of time with my daughter,” he stated and Jean turned his full attention to him, he knew Dorian didn’t approve of him and was automatically suspicious of his presence.

“She is a lovely girl, My Lord, you should be proud,” he replied and Dorian found that he bristled to the compliment. His words were true, his daughter was lovely and a delight to be around but he wanted anyone but that damned Orlesian Prince as a suitor for her.

Dorian thought briefly about how he wanted to respond to that and he chose blunt. “She is not for you…stay away from her,” he said sharply and Jean blinked in surprise.

“Umm…” he began not sure why he was being warned away, he’d done nothing to Dorian and Khrys but be a perfect gentleman. “Have I done something to offend you, Lord Dorian?”

Not personally, no, the only thing offense toward Dorian was pursuing his child. “Not at all, Majesty, I don’t trust you or your kind.”

Jean went on the defensive. “My kind?” Jean asked with a slight hiss in his voice.

“Orlesians. More specifically Chevaliers,” he answered still being uncharacteristically blunt.

Jean’s postured straightened, being a Chevalier was something he was immensely proud of, he worked hard for it, embraced it, and to his duty and oath seriously. He also knew that the organization had as tarnished a reputation as it could have had especially in Fereldan. “I’m sorry, My Lord, I don’t follow,” he said trying his best to keep his tone respectful toward a man who was building up to insulting him.

“Chevaliers use their rank to do as they please with anyone they please including _lovely young girls_.”

Jean’s jaw set as he burned at the insinuation. “I beg your pardon, Lord Dorian, I have never touched a woman without her permission and I resent your insinuation that I have dishonorable intentions toward Gabriella,” he snapped his tone harsh and firm.

Dorian appreciated seeing the aggression from him when prodded but his position remained, he didn’t want Bree used as a pawn in the Great Game. “Chevaliers talk of honor but use their position to take whatever they want and whoever they want and face no repercussions.”

Jean resisted the urge to do something rash and remained still against his better judgement. “And how is Tevinter any different?” Jean rebutted his tone a snarl now. He knew some Chevaliers were despicable and that was something he intended to change with his ascension to the throne of Orlais, “Magisters who use their position and power to beat and rape slaves; force them to do unspeakable acts to further their own agenda. At least Chevaliers have the decency to protect their people rather than use them for a blood ritual.”

Dorian wasn’t saying Tevinter was any better, he knew his countrymen committed atrocities that would make the vilest person blush, but what amused him was Jean’s last statement. “Carrick,” he stated and Jean’s expression fell noticeably even under the mask. It was the same reason that he gave Michel a little more lip than he deserved. “I see you’ve heard of it…the Inquisition responded to the request for aid, when we got there we found what was left of the village, I found a girl no more than 16 beaten in a haystack…she clung to me scared and crying and told me she’d been set upon by three Chevaliers who were supposed to protect the town from the rebels not add to them.” Jean knew this story it was five years ago. “We took it to your father, told him what happened, the girl was even brave enough to identify her attackers, do you know what your father did?” Jean did but that was a rhetorical question since Dorian was actually grandstanding right now. “Demoted…but they all remained Chevaliers, not one apology, one cent, or any reparation were paid to that poor girl or the village. I will never trust a Chevalier or a de Chalons with my daughters hand in marriage.”

Jean took an aggressive step toward him but Dorian remained still. “How dare you question my honor!” He snarled loudly. “Do not assume I condone the actions of my brothers simply because I am a Chevalier just as I don’t assume you are a ruthless blood mage simply because you are a Tevinter Magister.”

The Prince made a good point but Dorian didn’t care about that. “Stay away from my daughter; I will not say it again,” Dorian turned and walked away from him leaving Jean to fume quietly. He could be killed for his threatening manner toward the Prince of Orlais but brushed it off. What he saw at Carrick, that poor girl clinging to him for help destroyed his respect for Chevaliers and Gaspard’s ‘punishment’ ruined Orlais for him.

**

 

Jean’s fury burned through him like a blacksmith’s forge. He was so sick of being questioned about his honor, he understood Dorian was protecting his daughter but he’d never given Dorian any reason to suspect his intentions were anything other than honorable. He didn’t appreciate being painted with the same brush as the less honorable Chevaliers. Mau felt his frustration and the warhorse began to prance and fidget under him.

“Lance!” he barked at his squire and Mau began to dance even more in anticipation of what was next. His opponent he could see on the other end, the flashy grey Courser of Prince Duncan Theirin; he had nothing against the Fereldan Prince…he was just the unlucky bastard who got to receive Jean’s redirected ire.

Jean’s focused narrowed and he slammed his spurs into the red roan under him causing the stallion to rear and launch forward in bounding strides. That was uncharacteristic of Jean as Mau didn’t need that harsh of encouragement. The stallion settled as Jean focused and stilled in the saddle watching Duncan and Raider bounding toward them as well. Duncan’s jousting technique was nearly perfect, the only flaws he had were minor, and a product of being young and inexperienced with an inexperienced mount. The stallion was young and seemed to draw Duncan’s focus to compensate for him. It wasn’t something Jean could use now but someone down the line could. Jean was focused on where he wanted his lance to go, the only thing that remained was his anger and technique.

The two Princes met as close to the middle as they could and Jean’s lance hit Duncan’s chest with all the might the Orlesian could muster.

Duncan felt as if he’d been hit by an anvil square in the chest and the Fereldan Prince was ejected from his saddle, he came off on the railing side to his left sliding across the top of it feet first at Raider’s speed before tumbling off over the edge landing face first in the dirt on the opposite side. He hit the ground with a loud grunt, his face hitting the earth so hard he tasted blood filling his mouth. He couldn’t breath and pain reverberated through his body. Thankfully, the armor had absorbed most of both impacts but he still didn’t feel very good.

The crowd gasped and murmured as the crown prince of Fereldan fell from such a savage strike. Jean got Mau slowed down then turned the warhorse in a bouncy pirouette noticing that he’d unhorsed his opponent and pointedly glared at the stands to Dorian. With a triumphant roar he rattled the remains of the broken lance. “Chevalier!” he shouted loudly and the Orlesian’s in the crowd roared louder with their Prince. Realizing his pointed statement at Dorian riled his people he gave them what they wanted. “Chevaliers!” he roared again rattling the lance again before throwing it to the side. His fellow chevaliers, honored by the Prince’s recognition of them cheered him on. The Orlesian’s in the crowd were proud of their knights despite the order’s tarnished reputation.

Jean then turned his attention to Duncan’s slow moving body and kicked Mau into a canter to reach him as Duncan’s squires barreled toward him at a sprint.

Duncan figured out how to breathe again and rose slowly to his hands and knees flipping the visor up so he could spit the blood out of his mouth. He heard a horse approach and saw the roan feet of Mau as Jean expressed his concern. “Are you alright, Duncan?”

Duncan growled at the question hearing the Chevalier dismount. “Fuck you,” he spat harshly and Jean simply chuckled. If Jean wanted to hurt him he would have aimed for his head not his chest. His squires reached him as Jean helped him to his feet but felt the young man shove him away clearly irritated with being unhorsed. Duncan grimaced as he righted himself, oh the bruises he was going to have, armor or not, that was one of those hits that just stuck. He pushed past his squire and slowly headed toward Raider being led up by someone else. Mau pinned his ears at Duncan passing too close to him. “Back off, you bloody Monster,” he hissed at the ill-tempered roan.

Jean gave an airy chuckle in response to Duncan’s words to his horse. “Well done, Prince Jean-Fredric,” he heard Sebastian say from the dais.

Jean collected his horse and mounted as Duncan managed to do the same but with an audible groan. The younger Prince moved up next to him and faced their host as they both nodded at him.

Jean acknowledged the praise from Sebastian but said nothing to him and moved to Bree’s seated position sidling Mau up next to the railing flipping the visor of his helmet up revealing a little more of his face to her. He smiled at Bree giving her a respectful bow, he still wore her favor and she tingled and blushed. Dorian’s glare narrowed and he huffed at the Orlesian blatantly ignoring his warning from earlier. “I’ll win this in your name, My Lady,” he promised confidently and she blushed even more. Her blushing grin was all he needed and he looked up to meet the glare from Dorian and then looked at Khrys. “Lady Inquisitor. Lord Dorian,” he acknowledged before cueing Mau into a canter away from them so he could prepare for his next match.

Khrys wasn’t the only one who could see that Jean’s savage strike on his opponent was a message. Declaring his intention to win this in Bree’s name was a clear indication there was a feud between the Prince and Dorian. “What did you do?” she asked to Dorian and he sighed heavily. He had to commend the Prince on his showmanship and his obvious determination.

**

The rest of the tournament was ruled by Jean, he was determined to win this tournament to stick it to Dorian and for the woman he intended to court. Opponent after opponent fell to him in decisive victories with Bree’s favor displayed proudly on his right arm. He intended to keep his word. The final joust was between the Orlesian Prince and the reigning tournament champion Thom Rainier. Thom spent years being despised after the truth of his identity came out and his past indiscretions. He paid his dues for the people he wronged and the organization he ‘disgraced’ and began embracing the fact that people didn’t like him, the victory was sweeter. Now, he didn’t care of people’s opinion, he was a Captain in the Inquisition and one of the best knights in the land. He served the Inquisition proudly and would continue doing so until he died or was dismissed by Khrys.

The match was brutal, Jean and Thom were evenly matched, and lance after lance only served to reinforced that. This wasn’t the first time they’d jousted together, in Amaranthine Thom had eliminated Jean before they’d gotten to the final tilt. The lance had glanced up on his chest following the contour of the armor and hit him in the jaw; nearly knocked him cold but he managed to say on. There was no lasting damage beyond a very tender left jaw but he felt the hit for about three weeks.

The first lance went to Thom, he hit Jean dead center in the chest with a powerful blow shattering and sending pieces hurting through the air. If Jean and been a lesser horseman he would have been unseated.

The second lance went to Jean, he hit him lower under the ribcage aiming to unhorse him but it didn’t work, Thom must have been stitched into Dragon’s saddle and it left the Orlesian cursing. It earned him a point, however, as Thom missed rendering his lance unbroken.

The third lance didn’t help decide the victory, they both scored a hit and the match was officially a draw. What Starkhaven was witnessing was a very good match between two very good competitors and Sebastian gave them the opportunity to settle it in a tie breaker round. So now it was a second match, they were tired and already feeling the soreness from the repeated punishment all day.

The first lance of the second round went to Jean but it had an unintended side effect, a shard of his broken lance imbedded into the muscle of Dragon’s neck. He didn’t want to win that way. He wanted to beat Thom fairly not cause him to withdraw because he accidently wounded his mount. Thom didn’t withdraw and after a few extra minutes he returned with Broiny’s horse, Rosie, a stocky bay Forder Jean had seen earlier when he eliminated the Inquisition Captain.

The second lance was ugly but it counted toward for Thom. He hit Jean in the left hip and seemed to have lost the grip on the lance right before the impact which dropped it down too low; Thom was clearly showing signs of fatigue and had made an error. Jean growled through the pain as he felt it in his hip, up his back and down his leg. He was going to feel that one for a while, luckily the lance hit him and not Mau; it could have tripped him, broken something, or even punctured him. He’d seen Thom joust many times and even had gone against him; he never resorted to dirty tricks like that. It was a competition not actual combat. He saw the error, it wasn’t intentional, just as his splinter hitting Dragon wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed about it. He waited on his side for lance bits to be cleaned up and for everyone to ensure they were ready. He growled through his teeth and took his left foot out of the stirrup only to realize that was grievous mistake as pain burned up and down his leg when he stretched it out. His hip hurt a lot but he was still able to grip Mau with his leg so it couldn’t have been too bad. He thanked the Maker for the face shield since no one could see him grimacing behind it.

Jean set up for the last lance, he needed to either unhorse him or kill him to actually win this but that was easier said than done. Again, they both scored an equal hit right to the chest and Jean cursed and was certain Thom was as well, they were too evenly matched. It’s true, they could have continued until someone made a serious mistake but that wasn’t necessary. They were even and they knew it. On the way back to their sides they stopped in the middle. Jean was honest with himself, he barely stayed on Mau for that last joust but he hid the pain when he spoke to Thom.

“Are you alright, Prince?” Thom asked and Jean nodded to him.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“I apologize for that hit, I hadn’t intended that,” he told him and Jean nodded in acknowledgement.

“Neither did I,” they didn’t need to be specific; they knew what the other was referring to. “Draw?” he asked moving up to Thom’s right and extending his right hand to him.

Thom agreed, he could figure a way to beat him but it would take a little more time and would probably result in someone getting unnecessarily hurt. He clasped his arm up to his elbow firmly with a nod. “Draw,” he agreed. “You’re a fine Knight, Prince.”

“You also, Captain,” Jean returned in kind and he meant it. He didn’t want a draw but it was clear there was not going to a winner in this. The people would just have to settle for a draw. Jean’s eyes went to Bree. He was disappointed in himself for not living up to what he’d promised, he hadn’t won this for her and that bothered him.

The match was declared a draw, no clear winner between the two, making this the only joust in recent memory to end in a draw. Jean made his way back to the stables while his leg was burning like someone lit it on fire. Dismounting was just plain uncomfortable, even in his full armor Jean could manipulate himself to mount and dismount without much difficulty but that was not the case today. This time he actually needed Philippe to assist him, healers came and looked and deduced that his hip wasn’t broken it was just very tender. Jean refused the offer for mage healers and limped around to work out the pain.

**

The final evening party was much like the previous two, Jean didn’t like parties…he took every opportunity he could to leave court so he didn’t have to deal with them. His father did the same thing, he hated the game also but since he was forced to play he did it anyway. Jean preferred being out with his men and soldiers, training with the chevaliers, leading armies. The only thing he liked about being here was the fact that Bree was there.

He did his best to hide his tender movements and had respectfully declined any offer for a dance, even for Bree he’d bow out of dance tonight. He saw her from across the room; Bree was the most beautiful thing in Starkhaven. Her dress was royal blue and trimmed with black, Jean deduced that blue must be her favorite color. The shawl given to him as her favor was of the same color. Bree looked like her mother, most people compared her to her father but aside from her manner and her hair he saw more of her mother.

He made his way toward her, interrupting her conversation with Duncan and Lady Meghan. “My Lady Bree,” he said respectfully and noticed that he’d drawn Dorian’s attention, “may I speak with you?”

“No,” Dorian answered only to be swatted by Khrys as a warning to stop being rude.

Jean spared a brief look to Dorian since he knew he was actively defying her father’s warning. Bree also ignored the stern word of her father and gave him her bright smile. “Of course,” she said and took the arm her offered to her.

He was still limping on the right leg but in the name of pride and ego he did his very best to hide it and walk normally. “Are you alright?” she asked and he looked down at her with a smile and a nod.

“Yes,” he said through what sounded like embarrassment, he was a Prince, a military commander, a seasoned Knight, he was supposed to be invincible but he definitely wasn’t. “I will apologize…I did not win the tournament in your name.”

“Thom is a tough competitor,” she smiled. “He’s taught most of us in Skyhold how to ride and fight.”

Jean stopped walking and turned to face her presenting her with the neatly folded shawl. “I believe I should return this…it was an honor to fight in your name.”

Bree took it and smiled at him blushing constantly. Whenever she was with him she couldn’t help but blush. She unfolded the shawl and draped it round his neck. “Then keep it…and continue to do so.”

Jean let a smile slowly spread across his face and gave her a slight bow. “As you wish, ma bichette.”

Bree’s heart raced, Jean was charming and charismatic. She’d heard of Orlesian nobleman in their bluster and their sickening charm but Jean’s wasn’t a play…his affection for her seemed genuine. “Jean, can I ask you something?” she asked and he gave her a nod.

“Of course,” He replied.

It was an odd question but it was probably the most asked question for any Orlesian nobleman. “Can I see under your mask?” she asked not sure how exactly to ask that question.

Jean straightened and his pause made her think that she’d overstepped a bound. “Do you know why we wear these, ma bichette?” he asked, apparently he had chosen a pet name for her and it made her giddy.

“Public face versus private face,” she answered and he nodded at her very simple answer.

“Simple but accurate,” he said and she began to apologize before he raised his hand to stop her. “It’s alright…nothing would make me happier than to show you my true face but I feel that now is not quite the time for that,” he answered hoping that refusing to let her see him wouldn’t anger her. Bree wasn’t angry, a little disappointed but this was Orlesian culture and she understood that. “Rest assured that if you still wish you will see,” he could see the watchful stare of Dorian’s and gave a light snort. “Now, your father’s glare is making me uncomfortable so I will excuse myself,” he said and to his surprise she was chuckling as he took her right hand and kissed the back of it. “You look lovely this evening, My Lady Bree,” he complimented in as sincere and honest a tone as he could and released her hand and walked away from her. He didn’t want to create more tension between himself and her father; he intended to court Bree properly and to do that he needed to show Dorian that he wasn’t the monster the mage thought he was.


	12. The Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the 'getting to know you' segment is over. The first act was mainly introducing characters and hinting to the big problems, now comes the point. Thank you all for reading, feedback is welcome an I love comments.

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Act Two  
Chapter Twelve: The Wardens

 

If it weren’t for Tara, Carver would have lost complete track of how long he’d been under ground. He still didn’t understand how the Dwarves could spend all this time underground, never see the moon or the sun and still be able to differentiate breakfast and dinner.

How long had he been underground? His answer was simple: a while. At least he wasn’t alone, he had three others with him, typical size for a scouting party and so far they’d done pretty well. Since entering the Deep Roads at Valeska’s Watch in the Emprise Du Lion, they’d found about a few dozen Darkspawn hoards but it was nothing major. Himmel was determined to map sections of the Deep Roads no one had touched in decades. Dangerous, but that’s why Warden-Commander Himmel had sent his second in command and his best Wardens. Xander Himmel was the Free Marches’s Warden-Commander and Carver’s best friend for going on 6 years now. He promoted Carver to the rank of Warden-Constable a year after being given the honor or commanding the Wardens of the Free Marches.

This party consisted of three others. Tara, a former member of the Legion of the Dead who was tainted by Darkspawn blood who’d survived the Joining thus becoming a Warden. The rogue had a hell of a stone sense and it was amazing they hadn’t gotten lost with all the detours and lack of maps. Linus, another rogue from the slums of Kirkwall’s Darktown that Carver remembered seeing when he was following his sister around with that bloody healer she loved so much. Then there was the mage named Spike, he didn’t talk much. When the Wardens found him and brought him to Sunspire Keep in Ansberg from Llomerryn they’d nicknamed him ‘Spike’ because of his wicked looking spiked staff. He’d only been a Warden for a little over a year and had only recently started talking freely with people.

By the markings they were seeing on the walls Tara was convinced that the group was under Tevinter somewhere which floored Carver. They’d worked their way across Thedas, from roads that connected to Griffon Wing, the now defunct Adamant, and now apparently they were under Tevinter, weaving their way like rats in a maze. They were shooting for the Anderfels.

“Tara, please tell me we’re heading back towards the sun,” Carver grumbled and the blonde dwarf chuckled. “I miss Merrill…and the sky…” he continued, “and air that doesn’t taste funny, air shouldn’t taste funny.” Carver had aged well over the years. He gained a few new scars; the most noticeable one was on his left jaw from his ear lobe to his mid jaw. His hair was still long almost to his shoulder and the sides were slicked back into a half ponytail to keep it out of his face. He’d also grown up some, he didn’t have quite as big a chip on his shoulder as he used to but there was still a tremendous amount of friction between him and his older sister.

The Dwarf just continued laughing at her ‘fearless leader’, Linus and Spike could understand his pain, being underground for so long wasn’t natural to anyone but Dwarves.

“He’s right; I think I’m turning into a mole rat,” Linus piped up from the left as he edged closer to the drop off barely seen by the torch he was carrying. Spike remained silent while he guarded their backs.

“Be an improvement on your looks,” Carver sniped.

“Speak for yourself…you get uglier every time I look at you,” Linus retorted.

Carver cackled. “Raise your hand if you’re married. I can’t be that bad looking.”

“Just how many times are you gonna play that card?” Spike responded, the first thing the Rivaini city Elf had said in over three hours.

This went on for a while, typical banter for a close knit troupe but it ended when Tara stopped suddenly, frozen like a statue. The others immediately went on their guard and Carver pulled the greatsword off his back and moved up to the archer, her bow out and ready.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Somethings not right, Carver, almost like we’re being watched,” Tara replied her tone quiet but her eyes vigilantly scanning the dark roads around them. The area brightened considerably as Spike conjured a wisp and enchanted it to stay bright illuminating the area like it was daylight.

“I don’t feel any Darkspawn,” Carver replied his tone still low as he completed a 360 turn to scan the area.

“I didn’t say it was Darkspawn…” she replied, “we’re not alone.”

Carver found it prudent to take the Dwarf at her word. “Alright, let’s keep going,” he said and then began to move prepared for anything.

 **

The Warden Keep in Ansberg, unofficially known as Sunspire, was the same size of Vigil’s Keep in Amaranthine and was the only official Warden Keep in the Free Marches. After the Inquisitor banished the Warden’s from Orlais Lydia took over what was left in Fereldan. It took a great deal of time for her to rebuild the Warden numbers and the ones that Lydia still had wound up stretched thin across Thedas thanks to Corypheus’ devastation of their ranks and subsequent banishment. She established the Free Marcher Wardens until it could be fully staffed and then pulled back leaving Nathaniel Howe briefly in control until Himmel was voted in.

Xander Himmel of Tantervale was not Lydia’s first choice as a Warden-Commander, he was a fierce warrior but he had a dark past. Carver was appointed Himmel’s second in command and they were the best of friends.

The soft moaning of an obvious activity taking place inside the bed chamber did not deter Merrill from flat out barging in. She had mixed feelings about what she walked in on; her worry was momentarily taken over by the embarrassment she felt. The Elf serving girl that Himmel favored so much was named Anya, the tiny red head was even smaller than Merrill, and she shrieked at the intruder and dove under the furs of Himmel’s bed hiding as he sat up glaring at Merrill while he covered himself up.

“Unless you’re planning to join in, Merrill, get out,” he barked. He tolerated Merrill because of his friendship with Carver but that was about it. Himmel found her to be scatterbrained and annoying and was the only Elf he saw that he didn’t look at sexually.

Merrill had no intentions of ‘joining in’ even if she wasn’t bonded to Carver. Himmel’s reputation with Elves was awful; his reputation with women wasn’t very good either, but he had a thing for Elven women. “I’m sorry…Xander, but something is terribly wrong.”

Unless the Keep was on fire or there was Darkspawn horde attacking Himmel didn’t much care. “Whatever it is can wait, get out!” he barked.

“No. It can’t,” she replied adamantly. “It’s about Carver.”

He paused cocking his head to her with a blink. “What about Carver?”

“Something is terribly wrong. He’s in danger,” she answered in her typical babbling patter and his brow furrowed. Merrill and Carver had a strange connection, she was a blood mage and Carver had told him once that it was a blood bond between them. Whatever it was gave Merrill an uncanny ability to sense when he was hurt or in imminent danger…and she usually wasn’t wrong.

He looked over to the little Elf hiding under the covers. “Out,” he said sharply. “Now what are you talking about?” he snipped as he pulled some pants on irritated with having his private time interrupted by the one female Elf he really couldn’t stand.

She paced and didn’t care about Himmel’s privacy as he pulled his pants on, unabashed with his nakedness. “I can feel there is something wrong. I had a terrible dream…cold, darkness, fear, and something very powerful.”

Himmel scoffed loudly with an annoying, disgusting smirk. “You need to be more specific Merrill…the Deep Roads are cold, dark, and scary,” he replied becoming more annoyed with this.

As much as she irritated him he irritated her. Himmel was, quite frankly, an asshole. “I know when Carver is in trouble, Xander, and this is worse than anything else I’ve ever felt,” she said and he sighed heavily. “He is in danger.”

Carver was the first friend Himmel made when he was tossed into the Wardens against his will. Sebastian’s punishment for his crimes was a 50/50 chance the taint would kill him, he survived and it changed him for the better. He’d never escape the shadow of his crimes however, and to his surprise, Carver never judged him on his past. He knew most of the dark details after all the time they spent in the Deep Roads, obviously didn’t approve, but saw the new leaf that he’d turned over. Merrill may have irritated and annoyed him but Carver was a brother to him. If he was in trouble he’d do everything he could to help.

He thought a few minutes and eventually sighed with a nod. “I need more specifics, Merrill, with the amount of time he’s been gone he could be anywhere.”  
Merrill nodded sharply. “I’ll use a map and my blood…I’ll find him.”

 **

Himmel finished buckling on pieces of his armor as he moved through halls with purpose. “Dinah,” he called to an Elf woman who was already coming toward him, “gather your things, you’re coming with me…we leave for Amaranthine in an hour.”

Dinah was a City Elf from Denerim and a talented mage specializing in Ice and Spirit. She wasn’t the most powerful mage but she was good with the hexes and making things explode. “What’s happened?” she asked.

In the Free Marcher pecking order Dinah was his third in command and usually manned the Keep while the others were away. “Carver might be in trouble,” he said and she paced him scoffing.

Dinah shook her head still scoffing. “Another premonition by Merrill?”

Himmel shrugged, Merrill may have been a little irritating but she was probably right about this. “Well, when it comes to him she’s usually right…”

“So why are we going to Amaranthine?”

Himmel liked Dinah but had never slept with her, it crossed his deviant mind several times but he never acted on it. “Because to get where we need to go we’ll need Nathaniel’s help.”

It was no secret that Nathaniel Howe was not a fan of Himmel’s, when Himmel was voted in as the Warden-Commander the veteran simply left, following his orders; but it was clear that the decision to put someone like Himmel as a Warden-Commander did not sit well with him. “Warden-Constable Howe? Why?”

“Because he has a much better working relationship with those we need to deal with then I do,” he said and her brow furrowed. Where did they need to go that they needed Nathaniel to get there? Merrill appeared before the door they were headed toward dressed like she was going somewhere. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked her flatly.  
“With you,” she answered simply and he just brushed past her and opened the door.

Himmel shook his head. “No,” he said and she chased after him.

“Xander, he’s my husband-…” she protested and he turned on her firmly.

He knew that and did not care. “You are not a Warden, you stay here, I will bring him back.”

“The Deep Roads are not new to me, Xander, I’m going,” she replied firmly.

Himmel raised his right index finger. “You are staying here,” he stated again knowing that wouldn’t satisfy her. “I will lock you in a cell if I have to…”

Merrill scowled to him. “And then explain to Carver why I’m locked in the dungeon instead of down there to help him.”

“So long as he is alive to yell at me, that’s fine,” he replied with an irritated tone and tuned out any other protests from her. He didn’t want to take her for a few reasons, to protect her when Carver couldn’t, he didn’t trust her, and frankly she annoyed the hell out of him.

 **

Nathaniel was rousted out of bed at a quarter to four in the morning. Vigil’s Keep didn’t get ‘visitors’ and certainly not ones at this early hour in the morning. It was brisk morning too, misty, with enough of a bite in the air Nathaniel could see his breath. He’d wiped the sleep from his eyes and hastily tied half of his hair back out of his face before heading outside to find out who the visitors were. He really wasn’t expecting who he saw.

“Himmel?” he questioned blinking several times at the red Warden armor of the Free Marcher Commander of the Grey.

“Warden-Constable,” Himmel acknowledged giving the senior warden a measure of respect. Technically Himmel outranked him but as far as seniority went Nathaniel had him by miles. “I apologize for the early hour but I need your help.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked from Himmel to the Elf mage he was with and then back to Himmel before nodding slightly and gesturing for them to come along. If there was one man in Thedas he didn’t trust it was Himmel.

Duncan heard people moving around the in the halls and went to investigate. Every now and then he spent time at Vigil’s Keep training with Nathaniel and other Wardens. The more time he spent training with Wardens the closer they got to unlocking what abilities he had been born with. Being born a Warden was unproven, what he could do was still up for debate; he had the appetite of a Warden and had said that he could sense his parents and other Wardens but that has never been proven. He had never been in the Deep Roads or encountered Darkspawn to decide what else he could do.

When he joined Nathaniel and the two other Wardens, Nathaniel allowed him to stay. The Elf present was a mage, fairly plain with long dark hair pulled into a fishtail braid, and her face was severe like she didn’t like anyone even though no one had said anything to her. She was tall for an Elf female too at a lanky 5’7”.

Himmel did a double take seeing the Prince of Fereldan joining them and Nathaniel seeming to not care about it. “What’s he doing here?” Himmel asked and Duncan cocked his head at the Warden in strange red armor. He was 5’10, with short brown hair, a scruffy beard, blue eyes, and lean build.

Nathaniel had no patience for Himmel, he’d never liked him and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. “None of your business,” he replied flatly. “What do you want, Himmel?”

Himmel wasn’t exactly pleased with the presence of Prince Duncan but he continued with what he needed from Nathaniel. “We need access to the Eluvian in Skyhold,” he said getting straight to the point knowing that Nathaniel didn’t like pretense.

Nathaniel’s eyebrows raised, the Eluvian wasn’t common knowledge or even available to anyone to just waltz in a use. He could hear the Inquisitor’s answer now, she banished the Wardens from Orlais because of their part in Corypheus’ plan to return the world to the Tevinter of old and while she didn’t blame all Wardens she was certainly wary of them. “Why?” he asked simply as Duncan remained silent.

Himmel cleared his throat. “We’ve lost a group of Warden’s scouting lost portions of the Deep Roads. We need the Eluvian to travel as close to them as we can then set out on foot to find them.”

Wardens went missing all the time; it was an occupational hazard no matter how anyone felt about it so he wasn’t clear on exactly why it would warrant the use of an Eluvian. “Awful lot of trouble to find a group of scouts, how do you know where they are…or even if they are missing?”

“A mage named Merrill is married to one of the Wardens…they have a blood connection, she sensed the danger and she’s usually never wrong about it.”

That cleared some of it up; Nathaniel knew Merrill, not well but knew of her. The naïve blood mage he’d met in Kirkwall a long time ago along with Tess Hawke. “I know Merrill,” he said with a sigh. “I assume the Warden is Carver?”

Himmel nodded in response. “We’ve lost too many Wardens to the Deep Roads, Nathaniel, I don’t intend to lose more or leave my people to die. I do not know the Inquisitor but you do…she will be more inclined to agree if you’re there and apart from the Warden Queen herself you’ve spent more time in the Deep Roads then the rest of us combined so your help would be much appreciated.”

Nathaniel sighed and thought a few moments, Himmel was correct in that enough Wardens had been lost over the years. They had a chance to save a few if the information was correct but if the information was incorrect they could wind up the missing ones. “Wait here,” he said quietly and looked over towards Duncan gesturing for him to come with him. “So, what do you think?” he asked Duncan and the young Prince did a double take.

“Why are you asking me?” he asked, it was the first thing that came to mind as he wasn’t expecting the second most powerful Warden in Thedas to ask him what he thought.  
Nathaniel just looked at him as they walked slowly side by side. “Because you are occasionally a smart lad,” he replied and Duncan allowed a chuckle at the rare snipe from the Warden.

Duncan took a deep breath; Nathaniel was testing him for some reason. “Well, I don’t know this Merrill, or Carver, or who that Warden is…but I say it’s not worth the risk,” he answered. “Warden numbers are dwindling as it is.”

Nathaniel appreciated Duncan’s opinion and actually shared it but given the history he had with everyone in question just saying no wasn’t really a prudent option. “I agree,” he said and then stopped walking. “But…I have a feeling that he’s not making this up. Would you ride to Denerim and tell your mother that I will be departing to Skyhold by way of ship within the next few days.” Duncan nodded at his request. Nathaniel was informal with him but always showed him respect, he’d known him his entire life, even taught him how to use a bow and surprisingly Duncan wasn’t bad at it.

 **

Amaranthine’s mornings this time of year were brisk and foggy it took him some time but he was able to requisition a ship to take him, Dinah, and Himmel to Redcliffe. He said goodbye to Velanna and was now staring at the ship on the dock. He didn’t like ships much but he dealt with it, he really wasn’t looking forward to the trip from Amaranthine to Redcliffe and then to Skyhold, all with a Warden he couldn’t stand. He was more than a little confused when Duncan came racing back with Raider in a foamy sweat, the kid must have rode hard to get from Denerim and back before they left.

“What are you doing here?” Nathaniel asked as Duncan dismounted.

“Mother sent me back, wanted me to come with.” He replied and Nathaniel’s brow furrowed.

That confused him beyond belief, after all _this_ time this was when Lydia finally let Duncan spread is wings. “Why?”

Duncan shrugged. “I don’t know but she gave me this since you probably wouldn’t believe me.” He said and handed him a sealed letter. Nathaniel took the letter, inspected it, broke the seal, and read it quickly. It had Lydia’s Warden Seal and detailed that this would be a good opportunity for Duncan to get his feet wet. It was certainly odd but it all seemed to be legitimate…sort of.

He nodded and folded the letter back up putting it into one of his pockets. He looked at the Prince for a few long moments and then gave him a nod. “Alright, hop aboard.” As Duncan passed him leading Raider along Nathaniel smiled to himself shaking his head. The kid was crafty he gave him that.

 **

The fortress in the sky was breathtaking; Himmel had never seen Skyhold before and always thought that the description of the Inquisition fortress had been blown out of proportion. After seeing it first-hand he realized how very wrong he was. The presence of three Wardens and a Prince caused a minor stir in the chaos that was Skyhold’s typical day.

Nathaniel had not been seen in Skyhold for years, his first trip was after the disaster at Adamant. He’d been through a lot as a Warden but going directly into the Fade with a bunch of Mages after falling off a bridge was at the top of both ‘craziest things ever’ and ‘let’s not do that again’ lists. With all the Wardens that died at Adamant and the part they played in unleashing a Darkspawn Magister on the world he had mixed feelings about being here.

“Warden-Constable Howe?” Thom questioned as he greeted them and sounded as surprised as he looked at the sight of the second highest ranking Warden in Fereldan arriving in Skyhold.

Nathaniel looked down from the charcoal colored horse he was on and couldn’t decide how he wanted to treat the warden pretender, he settled on indifference. “Rainier.” He acknowledged as Thom’s eyes shifted to Duncan.

“Prince Duncan,” he began and bowed slightly to him, “what brings you back to Skyhold, Majesty?”

Nathaniel didn’t let Duncan answer; he shared the same sentiment that Lydia and Alistair had for Thom only a little less brutal. “We need to speak to the Inquisitor, Rainier, it’s important.”

Thom counted three Wardens, one he knew and two he didn’t, and Duncan. Duncan was a bigger mystery than seeing Nathaniel there but he nodded slowly and gestured to them, he trusted Nathaniel even though there wasn’t a Warden in Thedas who trusted him. “Follow me.”

Skyhold’s interior had changed quite a bit since the last time Nathaniel had been there but the layout was the same, lots of steps, and it was no less busy. People buzzed about like worker bees but died down some as they got closer to the Inquisitor. Nathaniel allowed a small smile as he looked her up and down. She had not changed very much since the day he met her in that dank Crestwood cave, he only had eyes for his wife, Velanna, but the Inquisitor sometimes reminded him of her. Though now she didn’t look right, he’d liked the vallaslin that was miraculously removed by the mage that broke her heart.

“Inquisitor,” Thom began causing her to look up from the book she was looking over, “we have guests that insist they need to speak with you.”

Khrys looked from him to those that were following him recognizing two of them. She smiled and moved toward them. “Nathaniel,” she grinned happily. “What are you doing here?”

Nathaniel had always liked the Inquisitor, her decision to banish the Warden’s from Orlais was unpopular but one that had to be done. She was honest and fair, something that he respected. “Lady Inquisitor,” he replied and actually smiled at her. “I apologize for coming unannounced, Inquisitor, but we’ve come to ask for your help.”

Nathaniel didn’t joke around much; he was a very direct man, the sign of a Warden who had seen enough to know he had seen too much. He’d displayed outstanding resistance to Corypheus’ fake calling; he was as willful as they came but loyal to the core. Lydia had told her that Nathaniel had refused to take the refined version of Avernus’ concoction meaning he was extremely close to his Calling…the real one. Next to Alistair there was no one that the Warden Queen trusted more than Nathaniel Howe. Khrys looked past him to Duncan and that perked her curiosity. “Duncan,” she acknowledged and then looked to the Elf female and the other male Warden. “Who are they?”

“Warden-Commander Himmel of Ansberg and Warden Dinah Immalla,” he introduced quickly and Himmel stepped forward.

“Honor to meet you, Inquisitor,” Himmel nodded at her and Khrys’ brow furrowed.

“What can I do for the Wardens?” she asked as she studied the new Warden. Xander Himmel, she’d heard the name, the Red Warden some people called him on account of the armor he wore. It was Warden armor but not blue and silver, it was red and black. His reputation was less than stellar but he was very effective, proactive Warden.

“It is my request, Inquisitor…we need access to the Eluvian.”

 **

It wasn’t every day that the Wardens strolled into Skyhold with a request to use the Eluvian, Khrys’ first inclination, as Nathaniel had predicted, was to say ‘no’ but out of respect for Nathaniel she could at least hear them out. They moved from the Main Hall and into the War Room allowing Himmel to explain his request.

“For the last few years, I’ve had my Warden’s scouting the Deep Roads and creating an accurate map. My best group may have gone missing and could very well be in trouble,” Himmel said looking at the giant map of Thedas that put the rumors about it to shame. Her guarded expression told him that she wasn’t convinced yet. “One of the Wardens is married to a blood mage, they have a blood connection, she had a…‘vision’ that something was wrong.”

“Blood connection?” Khrys inquired. Blood magic was a disaster to get into if you weren’t careful. She and Dorian toed the line with the Necromancy and that was as close as she got to blood magic but she knew that blood magic could connect people.

“Carver Hawke, my second in command,” Himmel answered and Khrys’ expression changed at the name. Himmel noticed the change as she looked past him to Thom.

“Thom, get Malcolm please,” she said and he nodded and disappeared.

“Merrill is usually not wrong,” he continued.

“How do you know where they are?” she asked and Himmel took a step forward to the map table and took a second before answering.

“Merrill indicated…here,” he answered pointing to the Tevinter-Orlais border, “Which is why we need the Eluvian…from here to Griffon Wing then to the nearest Deep Roads entrance…here.”

It wasn’t the fact that it was Carver, Malcolm’s uncle, that was missing but when Himmel pointed out the location on the map she thought of something else. More to do with the mystery symbol she had in the cellar. The Sea of Ash wasn’t exactly around the corner from the location he pointed out on the map but there were too many things nagging at her about this.

“Merrill also said there was something very powerful down there with them,” Himmel added as he gauged the look of the Inquisitor. Her hair was the color of pure snow, her skin was clean and perfect, and she had a dainty build. The Inquisitor was beautiful and he couldn’t help the thoughts that went through his mind. What he would have done to her with or without her permission before he became a Warden. He snapped from his horrible thoughts and went back to the task at hand. “She’s encountered Darkspawn before but nothing like this.”

The door opened and Malcolm walked in with Thom following. “Inquisitor,” Malcolm announced, “you wanted to see me?” Malcolm’s brow furrowed at the scene, three wardens and Duncan of all people. “Duncan.”

Duncan shook his friend’s hand but he could see the furrowed brow on his face. They’d chat later when Malcolm was a little less confused. “Who’s this?” Himmel asked and Malcolm moved up to the table giving the Wardens all a calculating once over. Who were they? What did they carry? Were any of them a threat? He didn’t like the one in red armor but he couldn’t put his finger on why, the female Elf was a mage but he had no other opinion, the Warden with long hair was older than the rest with a resting facial expression of ‘he had seen it all’.

“Commander Himmel, this is Malcolm Hawke,” Khrys introduced and Himmel looked at him in surprise. He’d heard Carver talk about his family but had never met any of them.  
“Carver’s nephew,” Himmel said and took a step toward him. “He talked about you quite a bit…you do look like him.”

Himmel had extended his hand toward him and Malcolm thought briefly before taking it. There was something about him he didn’t like but he shook his hand anyway. He’d heard everything about people telling him who he looked like. With the exception of his eyes, he was his father through and through but people saw what they wanted.

“Carver is missing in the deep roads, Malcolm,” Khrys said bluntly and Malcolm looked at her with the expression she’d expected.

 **

Malcolm absolutely hated the idea of his uncle missing in the Deep Roads even though his parents didn’t much get along with his uncle. He didn’t need much more convincing after hearing the somewhat ludicrous explanation from Himmel, he knew his aunt was a blood mage and that his parents couldn’t stand her. No matter the chilly relationship between the adults in question, Carver was always there when he was needed the most. Khrys had granted Himmel and his troupe access to the Eluvian that would take them to Griffon Wing and Malcolm had convinced her to let him go with them.

Malcolm may have been young but he’d spent much of his time alone, so allowing him to go into the Deep Roads was a smart move tactically but she couldn’t help but feel more than a little apprehensive. She cared about Malcolm like she cared about Bree. “Malcolm,” Khrys called quietly as he was heading to the Eluvian. He stopped and turned toward her as she let Duncan go by leaving them alone in the hall. “You’re up to date on Solas and the mystery symbol from the Sea of Ash?”

“You mean the symbol that made Cole go berserk in the ruin?” he clarified. Solas was the running warning in Skyhold. Khrys’ standing warning was ‘do not engage’, Solas was the most powerful mage in Thedas, to attack him meant probable suicide. What Khrys was actually referring to was his obsession with the Deep Roads over the past few years. He understood and he was up to date on all of it. Part of the Inquisition training was to not only train but also learn about the biggest threat. Solas was definitely the biggest threat and he’d been scouring Thedas for anything powerful. “Yes, I’m up to date.”

“Solas’ interest in the Deep Roads has waned bit lately…however…” she said and Malcolm nodded. He understood what she was getting at, missing Wardens in that area after the issues that had been going on in the Deep Roads that had been logged by Lydia and her Wardens.

“Proximity…suspicious…I understand,” he said with a nod and she patted his arm.

She would have been remiss if she didn’t voice what was on her mind. “Mind yourself down there, Malcolm; you’ve never been in the Deep Roads, nothing you’ve done so far could have possibly prepared you for it,” Khrys said sounding like a mentor to a student. Malcolm nodded in acknowledgment; he’d heard hundreds of stories about the Deep Roads…primarily how much his father hated the Deep Roads. “And keep an eye on him,” She added gesturing to Duncan.

The tall mage snorted with a nod, Khrys was not the only one really, really confused that Prince Duncan was going to accompany them into the Deep Roads but Nathaniel had the last word on that. “That I intend to do.”

Morrigan opened the Eluvian as the party of five waited. Malcolm’s brain went into calculating mode and he assessed the party he was going to be spelunking with. Duncan wore heavy armor, it was plain onyx with brown padding under it that reminded him of Thom’s armor, he didn’t carry a shield though, just a hand and a half sword with a Griffon tooled handle…a gift from Alistair Duncan had told him. The Red Warden, aka Himmel, was what Malcolm guessed was a rogue/warrior hybrid. The armor he wore was heavy but more like a light heavy armor and the weapon he carried was about the only thing that peaked his interest. It was a spiral quarter staff with a break in the middle. Malcolm’s best guess was that the break allowed the quarter staff to be broken down into two decent length spiral swords. A smart design, it allowed for versatility and let its user turn a long weapon into two smaller weapons during close quarter combat when a staff would become a liability. It was an intriguing, unique design. Dinah was the other mage; she wore the typical Warden mage armor and carried a trident staff unimaginatively called Trident. It was an ice staff, it didn’t have to see action for him to know, he could feel the chill from it. Of course the chill could have just been coming from Dinah herself, her personality screamed ‘Bitch’ so he kept his mouth shut for now. Lastly was Nathaniel, the other rogue of the group and the only archer, in the blue and silver Warden medium armor that was dingy and well used. Nathaniel was extremely talented with a bow and not too shabby with the blades, he carried enough throwing knives on him to make Zevran jealous. His shortbow was famous, Long Death, was what people called it…Nathaniel just called it a bow. It was all black and no one but Nathaniel was entirely sure of what it was made out of, it was enchanted though and Malcolm could feel it thrumming off the bow like a pulse, something strange…debilitating even. He’d never felt anything like it…it was almost unsettling. Of everyone in this merry band of misfits Nathaniel was the most experienced and, with the exception of Malcolm himself, was hands down the most dangerous. The quiet ones always were.

 **

The trip through the Eluvian was simple enough and in a blink they were clear on the other side of Thedas in Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach. It was hot, sandy…and hot. They met Sigrun, the Warden Dwarf had a permanent post in this frying pan and no one really envied her but she was surprisingly cheerful about it all. Duncan was once again a kid in a candy store as he got to tour one of the places he’d always wanted to go. While the rest stocked up on supplies and updated maps Duncan wanted to know everything about the ancient keep. Malcolm simply chuckled; his friend was a total nerd.

The three Wardens were powerhouses and barely noticed the shocking climate change while Malcolm and Duncan, who were used to Fereldan and bone chilling Skyhold, pretty much wished they’d stayed home. After trudging through the heat, sand, and sulfur pit for a little over eight hours they’d reached their destination, their entrance into the Deep Roads. It was a mine of some kind, long abandoned, passed the mine itself there was a vertical crack in the Earth. Dinah informed the two Deep Road virgins that it was likely caused by an earthquake a few hundred years ago and Darkspawn probably poured through and killed all the miners. It wasn’t exactly a cheery thought but then again, nothing about the Deep Roads was cheerful. Duncan and Malcolm looked at each other as Himmel led them in followed by Dinah; Nathaniel was behind Duncan and Malcolm and eyed them seeing the ego hidden apprehension.

“Last chance to turn back and go home, Gentlemen,” he said quietly to them. He allowed a half smile as Duncan said nothing to that and went first following Dinah; the kid had his mother’s bravery.

“My uncle’s in there,” Malcolm said after a pause and then moved to enter, leaving Nathaniel to heave a short sigh. That was true, however, given the time it took for them to actually get anywhere to find them the odds of them being alive, if Merrill’s warnings were to be heeded, were paper thin. This could be a foolish disaster but Himmel did have a point, too many Warden’s had been lost so he had to at least try.


	13. The Relic

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Thirteen: The Relic

 

Khrys couldn’t have been more right, nothing had prepared Malcolm, or Duncan, for the environment in the Deep Roads. Pitch black, cold, with pockets of extreme heat, and of course there were the monsters…Deep Roads style. On the surface Malcolm had seen everything from giant spiders to giant dragons, down here there were deepstalkers, corrupted spiders, golems, and of course darkspawn--though they hadn’t found any of them yet. Malcolm quickly discovered that he truly hated being underground, he had no sense of direction in the blackness of the Deep Roads. Duncan was a little better but it was a learning curve for even him to move confidently like the three Wardens did.

Malcom made an error when they were attacked by a nest of deepstalkers; he used his Fist of the Maker to flatten them all and nearly caused the passage they were in to collapse in on them. Himmel scolded the hell out of him for that as a rock the size of his head narrowed missed crushing it. Dinah continued to rant a bit about child mages in places that they didn’t belong but she was still obviously wary of him and kept her distance. After that little rookie mistake he switched to lightening and stayed there. Lightening came to him as naturally as healing and it was far more deadly than the Force specialization that his mother taught him which was far more destructive over a large area.

After their first ‘night’ in the Deep Roads both Malcolm and Duncan could see the Wardens were unnerved, no darkspawn, not even a sense of them but they could tell that something wasn’t right. The deeper they went the worse the feeling got. There was something unnatural about this area. Nathaniel remained on point moving faster than the rest despite his age compared to them and Himmel guarded their back. Malcolm didn’t trust him, he didn’t like the way the Marcher treated Duncan. He was disrespectful, to the point that Malcolm believed if given the chance he’d kill him or leave him. Nathaniel obviously didn’t like Himmel either but he really didn’t know why. The rogue was finicky about his company and Duncan knew him better than he ever would but he did remember his father speak of him. Nathaniel was a good man but lacked a sense of humor, a flaw in his father’s mind.

 **

Duncan drove his blade straight down into the head of the corrupted spider with a bit of roar. “I hate spiders!” he announced irritated. Duncan had never seen so many damn spiders in his entire life; they came out of the walls, out of thin air. Pitch black and full of monsters…this place sucked.

Malcolm twirled his daggers confidently before thrusting them both into the face of the giant spider that had reared up at him. “At least it’s not rats.”

“Everyone still standing?” they heard Nathaniel call and responded with various grunts.

“I’d prefer rats,” Duncan replied to Malcolm who scoffed as he kicked the spider that had been bent on feasting on him.

“If these were rats, rest assured I’d have jumped in your arms for you to save me,” Malcolm replied and Duncan laughed, that would have been a sight. Malcolm’s acute awareness caught movement behind Duncan. A spider who escaped the initial fight, it leapt for Duncan. “Duncan, down!” he yelled and the Prince dropped without question. Malcolm threw his right dagger hoping to hit it before it got to him. He missed and took off a leg distracting it enough that it landed in an instinctive panicking heap. It forgot about Duncan and jumped for Malcolm. The mage sidestepped it with swift movements slicing its belly, only angering it further. It shrilled and tried to sting him causing Malcolm to jump back and then lose his footing on the crumbled edge of the road. He squawked at the sudden pull of gravity and clambered for purchase as two arrows whizzed through the air like silent death and killed the spider causing the problems.

Malcolm stuck his dagger into the stone to stop himself from sliding into oblivion; he cringed at the scraping, screeching noise coming from the dagger and mourned the damage to the custom Antivan Slasher. Now, he was dangling from that Slasher with nothing but a pit of blackness below. “Shit!” he barked loudly as he felt like an eternity before Himmel started to pull him back up. Malcolm cursed in his head more and more, cursing himself for where he was, and the fact that he lost his orientation and drifted too close to the edge.

He was smarter than this; he was definitely smarter than this. _“How the fuck did I get here?”_ he cursed to himself in the midst of his current situation.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Himmel said in a conversational tone, he was eerily calm about pulling Malcom up over the ledge. Nathaniel held Himmel’s left arm as he pulled Malcolm up with his right.

Malcolm growled loudly as he had helped Himmel with his own strength to pull himself back up over the edge was dangling from. “I hate the bloody Deep Roads!” he growled in frustration shaking everyone off him.

Himmel patted his arm as they moved away from the edge and Nathaniel actually chuckled. “You sound just like your Father,” said Nathaniel, still chuckling.

“None the worse for wear…you’re alright,” Himmel decided as Duncan came up to him with the dagger that he’d thrown.

“Here,” Duncan offered. “Thank you.” Malcolm nodded to him in a silent ‘don’t mention it’ taking it from him before moving off to retrieve the other one.

Nathaniel had to put some effort into pulling it out of the stone and examined the tip; it was scratched and mangled with about a half inch broken off. “Well…that’ll need to be reworked,” he commented and gave it to Malcolm.

He groaned irritated and sighed heavily, Harritt could fix it and there was nothing he could do about it now, it would still serve its purpose to kill. “I hate this place.”

Nathaniel chuckled again. “Just like your father.” The time spent dispatching the Architect and the Mother was something he’d rather forget, but Anders, however obnoxious he might have been, had made him chuckle.

Malcolm eyed him as the rogue began to collect his arrows from the bodies of spiders. “How well do you know my father?” he asked and put his daggers back on his back and moved to help him collect his arrows.

“Spent a decent amount of time in the Deep Roads stopping a darkspawn master plan with the Commander, him, and a spirit of Justice,” he explained causing Malcolm to pause before pulling an arrow. “Same spirit your father joined with, same one that blew up Kirkwall.”

Malcolm suddenly became uncomfortable, part of it was the topic and the rest was one of Nathaniel’s arrows. Unnerving, uncomfortable, he touched it to pull it from the spider that was missing a leg and recoiled. Nathaniel furrowed his brow at Malcolm’s reaction but stepped forward to pull the arrow and inspect it. “Your bow…it has an enchantment on it doesn’t it?”

Nathaniel nodded deciding the arrow was still good and returned it to the quiver. “Valenna enchanted it to kill darkspawn…it’ll kill one with one hit,” he said and Malcolm knew that wasn’t the only enchantment it had on it, there had to be something else. It was true that he’d never felt a darkspawn enchantment but it felt like it tugged at his connection to the Fade. “Also to kill Shades and Horrors…there are more of them down here then you might think.” A Spirit enchantment…that explained why it unnerved him so much.

 **

Duncan observed Malcolm fiddling with the braided leather bracelet on his left wrist. There was a little bit of beadwork on it that added a feminine flare to it but it must have been sentimental to him since he was playing with it whenever they camped.

“Who is she?” he asked and Malcolm gave him a curious look.

“Huh?” to be perfectly honest, Malcolm wasn’t really listening to anyone or anything around him.

Duncan gestured to the bracelet. “The woman who gave you that.”

Malcolm let a half smile appear as he thought about her. “Lily,” he answered.

“Who is she?”

Malcolm shrugged, he was usually very guarded about the information he handed out about his personal life. Too many people were hunting those with the same last name as he but he felt comfortable with Duncan, he didn’t act like an heir to a Kingdom, he was…normal. “Girl I grew up with,” he answered. “Chasind. There’s scattered little villages in the Wilds, for a time my father was the only Healer for miles, that’s how I met her…I’ve known her since I was 10.”

Duncan smiled to the story. “That explains it,” he began as Malcolm took a swig of water from the canteen with a questioning grunt. “I was beginning to wonder why you and Bree weren’t an item.”

Malcolm coughed as the water unexpectedly went down the wrong pipe surprised by Duncan’s comment. He coughed a few more times and cleared his throat. “She’s like a sister to me…,” he replied stifling the rest of the coughing, “no way. It seems you lost out in that area too…Jean-Fredric really kicked your ass at the tournament.”

Duncan knew he was teasing him. Yes, the Orlesian Prince destroyed him in the joust but he had more experience and a better technique, as for Bree…he liked her but it just wasn’t the time for him. “To be honest I wasn’t really trying,” he replied.

“With Bree or with the joust?” Malcolm asked with a smirk and Duncan rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he hissed jokingly at the relentless needling about the joust and Malcolm just laughed. “I like Bree but…I’m just not interested in marriage at the moment. Let me figure out how to rule a kingdom and then I’ll find a wife.”

That was logical, a solid plan. “Not the way your parents did it.”

“My parents saved Thedas and my mom put my father on the throne,” he replied and Malcolm chuckled to him.

“Lot to live up to,” Malcolm chuckled. “King Duncan Theirin…figured you’d be named after your father.”

Duncan shook his head. “It’s was probably in the running but no…the Warden who recruited both my parents and died at Ostagar, my middle name is from a friend my mother knew in the circle. What about you…who are you named for?”

“My Grandfather, an apostate from the Free Marches,” Malcolm answered.

“Middle name? Garrett right?” Duncan asked and the mage nodded but was quiet for a moment.

“My father’s name.”

Duncan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Your father’s name is Anders,” he said and Malcolm nodded, he wasn’t wrong.

Malcolm allowed a slight smile. “Is it?” he said and Duncan’s expression didn’t change. “Anders was the name the Fereldan Circle gave him when he was first brought to the Circle. He was 7 years old, taken from the Anderfels, he didn’t talk, never told them his name so they just started calling him Anders.” Duncan blinked and nodded to his story as Malcolm tossed the canteen to him. “To recycled names…may our children never have them.”

 **

The further in they went the darker it got and Duncan wasn’t sure that was even possible, the only light came from the torch at Nathaniel’s back carried by Himmel and the one carried by Dinah at the back. Himmel helpfully informed them that parts of the Deep Roads were like this, where no light from the lava flows or glow of lyrium existed. They were the most dangerous sections since you couldn’t see a damn thing. Still, after almost a week, no darkspwan and that was more unsettling to the Wardens than anything else they’d dealt with so far. Duncan stopped suddenly causing Malcolm to stop as well.

“What?” Malcolm asked noticing how the young warrior was standing, almost like he’d heard something.

He didn’t respond, a strange feeling in his mind, whispering in the dark and then a sharp pain hit his right temple like a migraine and he cried out. Before long he had the rest clustered around him trying to figure out what was wrong with him and noticed he was pointing in the direction that they were heading. The chorus of ‘whats’ were cut short by the three Wardens freezing solid for a second and then all looking in the same direction, the same direction that Duncan was point.

“Shit,” Malcolm cursed. “Well, this can’t be good.” he muttered drawing the Slashers from their home on his back.

“Darkspawn,” Dinah said out loud readying her staff for a fight.

“A lot of them,” Himmel added as they fanned out. He readied his unique weapon in staff form and twirled it a few times awaiting the battle.

Duncan growled as the pain went away but the inaudible whispering remained. “Oh, what is this?” he growled out drawing his sword.

“You’re feeling the darkspawn, Young Prince,” Himmel replied and snorted to himself. “It appears the speculation about you is true…you are a Warden.”

Duncan didn’t know how he felt about that, definitely a life changing moment for him, but something told him that this wasn’t going to be as grand as it sounded. Dinah rushed to the sides of the road looking for brazier’s to light. She found a few helping the party see whatever was closing in on them as the noise grew louder, a noise that could only be described as ‘undead’…neither Duncan nor Malcolm had ever heard anything like it.

The darkspawn seemed to pour from nowhere, unholy walking dead. Creatures cast out by the Maker himself, Malcolm and Dinah struck first with Ice and Lightening respectively with Himmel wading into the fight. The Red Warden swung the bladed staff with his right hand and hit several Hurlocks at once, after that the fight was on.

Duncan’s years of training were legitimately put to the test, he wasn’t sparring or competing, this was real. He shed the green quickly and nothing but training and instinct remained. He focused and took on each enemy seemingly one at a time, once he dispatched one he moved on to the next or blocked the oncoming attack from next one. An arrow whizzed over his shoulder as he struggled with a Hurlock Alpha and into the warrior that was poised to attack him.

The Alpha Duncan was fighting with wasn’t giving up but Duncan was able to draw his sword across its throat. The blood spewed from the Hurlock’s throat and sprayed into Duncan’s face, the foul blood got into his mouth as he decapitated the darkspawn brutally and viciously. Blood was in his eyes, his mouth, and was pretty sure he snorted it up his nose too. He wiped it from his eyes with just enough time before he was attacked by a pack of Genlock, the things were dwarf size but nimble. He killed one and then felt the frigid chill of Winter’s Grasp freeze two more solid on his left, Duncan took the opportunity it hit the Dwarf sized chunks with a powerful swing turning them into smaller ice chunks then moved on to more darkspawn. Fighting darkspawn seemed to come naturally to him, fighting in general did, but it felt different against darkspawn.

Time seemed to slow and Duncan exhaled, he could see everything, hyperaware about everything around him. This blackness lightened and he could see through it, see all the darkspawn and where they were coming from, a tall crack in the stone. He knew where his allies were; Himmel and Malcolm fighting back to back, Malcolm’s chain lightening arching across several darkspawn, Dinah was closer to his position, her ice magic coming up from the ground freezing several darkspawn at once leaving them to be shattered by a blast of lightening or a well-placed hit, Nathaniel was in the thick of it too flicking countless arrows into eyes and heads and using his throwing knives when they got too close. Duncan didn’t know what was happening to him but he could feel a change through his body like a cool surge. His first target was a Hurlock dispatched with practiced ease; a single swing removed his head as he waded into the horde before him. Anything that got in his way he killed, Genlocks, Hurlock, Bolters, Warriors, it didn’t matter his target was the Emissary. He felt a few hits to his armor but nothing that actually went through, he felt nothing, no pain, no fear, just a rush of focus and eerie clarity. The Emissary remained stationary, perhaps surprised that it was being rushed by a lone Warden but it occurred to Duncan that he must not have given it any time to do anything. Duncan caught the sword hand of a Hurlock trying to defend the Emissary and drove the Griffon sword into its throat, dropping it instantly. The Emissary was surprisingly simple to beat, a quick upward diagonal slash across his torso and Duncan moved behind it taking its head off with a decisive backward swing.

The darkspawn began to retreat with the death of the Emissary leaving Malcolm and Himmel breathing heavily back to back and surging with adrenalin. They were momentarily distracted by Duncan seeming to go berserk, his moves were inhumanly fast but extremely precise. Himmel had seen berserkers before but literally nothing like what he’d just seen. His once clean armor covered in the dark red, nearly black, blood of the Darkspawn and that same blood covered his face. Duncan looked more like a monster than a Fereldan Prince.

“Duncan!” Nathaniel shouted noticing he was pursuing the retreating darkspawn; you never pursued them deeper into the Deep Roads alone especially into a crack into the wall. “Duncan!” he shouted again but again he didn’t stop.

Malcolm let out after him as Duncan continued to kill any darkspawn that got into his way, retreating or not they died. A few attacked him outright and Malcolm saw up close the deadly accuracy and the same inhuman speed.

“Duncan!” Malcolm called trying to get the berserker warrior under control, something was very wrong with him but he just cut through dozens of darkspawn all by himself. “Duncan, calm down!” Duncan turned on the person preventing his movement and Malcolm barked in pain as Duncan sliced his right forearm with his sword, he was sure he didn’t mean to hurt him but it triggered Malcolm’s suppressed instinct. Energy from the fade crackled around him in a momentary flash as the mage took him by the shoulder and shoved him back into the wall. “Duncan!” he roared in his face.

Duncan blinked several times at what he saw…he wasn’t sure what he saw but it was enough to snap him out of it. “Malcolm…,” was all he said before collapsing into him.

“Duncan? Duncan?” he repeated catching him and gentling lowering him to the ground. “Duncan?” None of them were quite sure what got into Duncan but something clearly wasn’t normal. Malcolm’s hands glowed with healing magic as he tried to figure out what happened.

“What’s going on?” Nathaniel asked as he and Himmel appeared above them.

Malcolm honestly had no clue. “I don’t know,” he answered sharply as he concentrated. He could feel the taint, it was familiar. When he was younger and learning his father let him practice healing on him. The taint felt like an underlying sickness that was just barely out of reach, it couldn’t be healed. Duncan’s felt different though, stronger but further away. The taint wasn’t what caused whatever the hell that berserker mode was.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” Himmel asked. “You’re the healer.”

Malcolm was growing frustrated. “I don’t know, damnit, I know as much as you do, now back off!” he barked and closed his eyes to concentrate on what he was doing. He found no injuries: nothing that he could see or feel, it was strange, damned strange. There was blood all over his face but it wasn’t his.

Nathaniel herded Himmel away letting Malcolm do his work. They went to the darkspawn bodies and looted them for everything they had. Found assorted trinkets, money, potions, and some decent weapons.

 **

It took nearly 20 minutes before Malcolm returned to them looking as perplexed as he was earlier. Nathaniel, Himmel, and Dinah gave him their attention as Malcolm popped the top on a Lyrium potion. The draught hit him like ice; cold, refreshing, ice and he immediately felt better.

“Well?” Himmel asked beating Nathaniel to it.

“Physically there’s nothing wrong with him,” Malcolm said. “Whatever happened, his body is literally drained.”

“So, what, is he dying?” Dinah asked, despite her chilliness she was a good team player and actually saved both their hides earlier.

Malcolm shook his head. “No. It’s just whatever happened took so much out of him I can’t wake him up.”

“How long?” Himmel asked.

Malcolm shrugged; he really didn’t have the answer to that. “I don’t know…whenever he wakes up.”

“That’s not an answer,” Himmel grumbled and huffed. “We can’t stay here and wait for him to wake up; we have to keep going, it’s taking too long as it is.”

Nathaniel glared at him. “We are not leaving him behind, Himmel; I don’t care how long it takes.” Nathaniel replied.

Himmel growled, he hadn’t wanted Duncan down here in the first place. He was a liability, had never been in the Deep Roads before and everyone would be spending time trying to protect him instead of killing darkspawn. “We have Wardens out there that are in serious danger we need to move faster, I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone who may or may not wake up again. I told you not to bring the Prince down there.”

Nathaniel’s desire to knock the shit out of Himmel was nearly overpowering but he kept it under wraps. “Warden or Prince I am not abandoning anyone down here.”

“Neither am I,” Malcolm added and Himmel turned toward him.

“My Uncle has been missing for weeks if not months, if he’s not dead already he can wait a few more hours,” the mage snapped doing his best to keep a lid on his anger.

“What do you think will happen to you if he dies down here?” Nathaniel asked with a rumble in his throat, he didn’t like Himmel anyway and this reiterated that.

Himmel snorted understanding what he was referring to. “I do not fear the Warden Queen,” Himmel said and Nathaniel shook his head.

“You should.”

Himmel remained fearless, he didn’t fear her, he stood up to her, ran things his own way. He respected her reputation and deeds in saving Thedas and rebuilding the Wardens after the ranks were devastated, but he didn’t quake in fear at her feet. It was part bravery but mostly it was ignorance on his part. He’d never been on her bad side so he had no idea what everyone else was so afraid of. “I don’t, you may be her pet but I see her for what she really is.”

Nathaniel’s posture changed, aggressive ready to attack. His loyalty to Lydia was unwavering and if Himmel gave any indication of betraying her or the Wardens he’d kill him immediately. “Do you really wish to incur the wrath of a blood mage by letting her son die because you are too impetuous?”

“I do not fear the Warden Queen,” he repeated and his bored tone made Nathaniel want to rip his throat out if he said it again.

Malcolm blinked. “Blood Mage?” Malcolm asked with a furrowed brow…that explained her strange aura.

Himmel gave him a smirk that Malcolm wanted to slap off his face. “Yes, the illustrious Queen of Fereldan is a maleficar.”

That was supposed to remain a guarded secret, Malcolm he trusted but Himmel was coming dangerously close to crossing the line. “If you let her son die down here she will kill you, Alistair will kill you. It will be public and painful.”

“I’ll kill you and save them both the trouble,” Malcolm put in, his causal tone was almost frightening but it pleased Nathaniel. He had his differences with his father but so far Malcolm had proven to be an exemplary young man. “You try to leave him down here and you’ll never see daylight again.”

Dinah didn’t like his tone or his words and stepped up to Malcolm who just didn’t even bother to look at her. “Get out of my face,” he growled. Malcolm was unusual to the point that Dinah couldn’t put her finger on it, he was unsettling and his growl was enough to make the Warden back off. Until she understood what made him so uncomfortable to her, she would bide her time.

“I could order you, _Warden-Constable_ ,” Himmel stated, it sounded like a last ditch effort, he wasn’t outnumbered but he and Dinah were ‘outclassed’, Malcolm saw to that…a mage and a rogue in one tipped the balance.

Nathaniel took offense to Himmel both professionally and personally and grabbed the man with both hands yanking him toward him. Dinah’s movement to aid her Commander was stopped as Malcolm had his left dagger to her throat in the blink of an eye. She felt a strange arcane pull around him, almost like the Fade felt. “You are a murderer and a rapist and have no business wearing that uniform!” Nathaniel roared in his face. “This is my command now, _Warden_ Himmel, this topic is closed. We wait. Respond with anything other than complete submission and your tenure as a Warden will come to a swift end.”

Everything in Himmel was telling him to fight back but instead he submitted to Nathaniel, an act that left a bad taste, he wasn’t stupid or reckless with his own life…Nathaniel would have killed him. End of story. If the rumors were true, Nathaniel was actively hearing the Calling; the dying Warden whose loyalty never wavered would happily drop Himmel and his lackey down one of the chasms and not lose a second sleep over it. “Yes, Sir,” Himmel replied and was shoved back by Nathaniel still holding his stare.

“Malcolm, tend to Duncan. Dinah, sentry,” Nathaniel ordered his tone showing his sheer irritation as he address Himmel. “You, police the bodies,” he growled.

**

Malcolm did as asked and kept an eye on Duncan, healed his own wound, and checked the young man but sighed as there was nothing he could do to speed him awake. Something nagged him about what Nathaniel had said while crushing Himmel under his firm hand.

“Murderer and a rapist?” Malcolm questioned as Nathaniel fiddling with the string on his bow. “Who is Himmel and do I need to watch him?”

Nathaniel didn’t fence with him and answered his question. “To answer your second question, yes. To answer your first, Himmel was a mass murderer and serial rapist in Tantervale and Starkhaven. Sebastian took offense to the piling bodies and depravities against women in the Elven settlements and in the cities lower class and Himmel was dragged before him by his guards. Instead of killing him outright he showed mercy…gave Himmel a choice: the executioner’s blade or take his chances with the Joining. The bastard survived the Joining.”

Malcolm cocked his head and looked a little confused. “I thought the Wardens got to choose who they took? Why would you take him?”

Nathaniel nodded, he wasn’t wrong in that. “That’s true, but our ranks were down to handfuls, Lydia took in anyone to fill them…believe me…he’s one she wishes she could take back,” He answered. “Believe me…no one expected him to be unanimously voted in by the Marcher Wardens as their Commander.”

“What’s his problem with the Warden Queen?” he asked. He had been about to ask after her being a Blood Mage, but he didn’t. When he’d met her he could tell something about her was off, now knowing that she was a Blood Mage explained that.

Nathaniel tested the string by drawing it and then letting it down. “Better question is ‘what isn’t his problem with her’,” he replied. “They disagree on everything…from how the order should be run to their standing role when not in a blight. He thinks Alistair is a fool, the Queen is a witch, and apparently Duncan is no more than a burden. I’ve never trusted Himmel and he knows that, he’s not stupid enough to harm Duncan outright but he’s not going to move mountains to save him either.”

Malcolm took a step toward him, his expression moving to irritation. “You wait until _now_ , when we are _here_ ,” he gestured sharply to generalize the Deep Roads; “to tell me about Himmel and how much you don’t trust him?” he snapped keeping his tone low.

“You don’t trust him either don’t think I don’t see that, now, tend to Duncan so we can find your uncle and get out of here.”

Duncan’s position hadn’t changed; he was still sleeping soundly, or at the very least seeming to sleep. Malcolm had sat down and was now waiting and fiddling with his damaged blade, there was nothing he could do with it now but he was still not thrilled with the damage to it.

After over an hour the Prince stirred drawing Malcolm’s attention, he put the dagger down and leaned forward. “Duncan?” he questioned. Duncan groaned and grumbled as he tried to sit up. “Easy. Easy, easy, easy,” Malcolm coached as Duncan struggled to sit upright but managed it in the end.

Duncan felt exhausted, drained of strength and energy; he’d been tired and exhausted before but nothing like this. “Oh…Maker’s…Balls…what the bloody void happened?”

Malcolm didn’t answer that yet and handed him a canteen. “Here. Water, drink it,” he said and the Prince took it discovering that he was parched beyond belief. He nearly downed the whole thing in just a few large gulps before handing it back to him. Malcolm popped the top on a restoration potion and traded him for it. “And this.” Duncan was pale, against his dark hair he looked like a ghost, but as he drank the potion his color began to return quickly.

Restoration potions always tasted like a sour apple and Duncan made a face shivering as it took an instant effect. “Oh, what happened?” he asked again rubbing his face with his left hand.

“Nathaniel!” Malcolm called and then put his attention back on Duncan. “That is a good question,” he said. “You…went berserk…literally.”

Duncan didn’t remember anything about what happened; the last thing he remembered clearly was turning big ice chunks into little ice chunks, after that it all was a blur. He remembered darkspawn and the irresistible urge to kill them.

 **

Duncan didn’t feel like himself, they were up and moving but he still didn’t feel quite right, he was shaky and felt like he’d run several miles. Malcolm randomly ran a healing spell over him mostly to keep checking him for any ill effects of whatever had happened.

“You doing alright?” he asked and Duncan simply nodded with the brave face. He didn’t remember what happened so the only answer he had was a tentative nod.

“Yeah…” he answered tentatively. “I…I think.” he added holding his right hand out and watched it tremble slightly.

Malcolm found the same thing as before, nothing wrong with him. “Well, you’re not injured…despite all the blood you were covered in.”

“That was the Alpha who refused to die cleanly,” Duncan muttered. “Never thought I’d say I’ve tasted darkspawn blood.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed for a moment at his comment, ordinarily he’d be worried about the taint if he ingested darkspawn blood but with Duncan it was different. “Well, you already have the taint so at least we don’t have to worry about that...the Alpha was the last one you remember killing?” he asked and Duncan nodded with a grunt helping Malcolm try to figure out exactly what happened.

“Starting to think coming down here wasn’t such a great idea.” Duncan added and Malcolm snorted with a smile.

“You don’t really have permission to be down here do you?” he asked and Duncan shook his head with a soft chuckle.

“Decidedly not,” he replied. “I forged my mother’s hand and used her seal…I don’t think Nathaniel bought it but he didn’t turn me away,” he explained and Malcolm just listened. He figured there had to be something since the last place his parents would let him go is down into the Deep Roads. “Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed when I get back.”

Malcolm clapped him on his left shoulder. “Well…you couldn’t stay the goody goody your whole life. Welcome to the life of the riff-raff.”

Ahead of them was Himmel and Nathaniel, Nathaniel still leading the party through the Deep Roads with Dinah at the rear. Himmel silently simmered after being aggressively put in his place, he knew that his only ally down here right now was Dinah and despite his attitude was curious about what happened to Duncan. The kid was up and moving again and he had to give it to him, he was tough. Nathaniel stopped and Himmel moved up next to him.

“How much further?” Nathaniel asked him and Himmel scoffed.

“This is ‘your operation now’, Warden-Constable Howe, you tell me,” he replied and Nathaniel let out a small huff.

“Himmel, I swear I’ll throw you into the nearest deep hole.” He replied flatly but his voice carried the contempt for him.

Himmel huffed. “What in the Maker’s bloody ass did I do to you? I know you don’t like me because of my past, but-…”

“You tried to leave the Prince of Fereldan down here to die!” he snarled to him harshly but made the effort to keep is voice down. “As far as I am concerned I should kill you just for that.”

“This from the man who tried to kill the Queen all those years ago, whose family slaughtered her’s in a violent coup?” Himmel replied but Nathaniel had long since come to terms with his past mistakes and with his father’s role in Loghain’s plans, he’d made his peace with Lydia for it all as well.

“Himmel, if you don’t have anything useful to contribute then what use are you?” the senior Warden hissed to him.

Himmel huffed, he’d never win this fight and it was clear that he’d never have the senior Warden’s respect or approval. “Merrill didn’t give specifics, just feelings but we haven’t run across them yet so they must be further in.”

“In short, you don’t know exactly,” he summed up irritated.

“Keep moving…we’ll find them,” Himmel assured and that wasn’t specific enough for Nathaniel who grumbled but kept them moving. They could be down here for months and not find them, the Deep Roads were an endless maze of corridors, caves, and narrow-ass bridges, and if they did find them it would be a fucking miracle.

 **

Another day took them ever deeper and the architecture around them changed, the feeling changed as well. Since they started in on this section of the roads they’d felt that something wasn’t right, it wasn’t the darkspawn, it wasn’t the fact they were underground, it was something else. Merrill had indicated that there was something very powerful in the area that she put Carver. They didn’t know if it were true or even what it was but there was definitely something unusual about this place.

Nathaniel knelt down investigating a body, it wasn’t a darkspawn. “Himmel,” he called noticing that it as an Elf, “one of yours?” he asked as he appeared over him along with Dinah.  
Himmel shook his head. “Two men, a Dwarf, and an Elf and that is not Spike.” He said, he wasn’t sure who this elf was but he looked like he’d nearly been cleaved in two. That had to be damaged inflicted by Carver’s epic greatsword but it begged the question of who this was. Judging by the body it had been dead for a few weeks.

“Another one here,” Duncan called and as Himmel and Dinah moved over to him. Nathaniel lingered to search the body and then joined them.

“Linus…damn,” Himmel cursed kneeling down next to one of his Wardens; Linus looked like he’d been stabbed in the back and had his throat cut. “Over here,” he heard Malcolm call and left his fallen man to investigate further. Malcolm was crouched down by what looked like a female Elf and pulled an arrow from her to inspect it. It didn’t look like a decrepit old Darkspawn arrow. “One of Tara’s arrows.”

Malcolm could feel something, it was getting stronger and he stood to follow it, a deep thrumming power he could feel in his bones. “Malcolm?” Duncan inquired as he watched the mage follow an invisible trail.

Malcolm shook his head at the thrumming that was nearly overpowering his senses trying to clear his head. “This way,” he said he could feel the path to wherever the source of magical energy was. “They’re down here.” Something was telling him that both the source of power and the lost Wardens were in the same place.

Himmel’s brow furrowed and he looked over at Nathaniel to see the same look on his face. Nathaniel shrugged and they followed him. Malcolm had found a similar crack in the wall that descended into the Earth. At first Himmel thought that the mage had taken him on a foolish endeavor but that changed once they discovered a group of bodies in the middle of the narrow path they’d been following. It occurred to all of them that they had been descending into the Earth at a steady grade for nearly an hour.

“What in Andraste’s name is going on?” Himmel asked noticing more bodies. It was more of the same, Elves, male and female killed by sword, arrows, or magic. It was strange to see so many Elves that weren’t Wardens.

“These aren’t darkspawn,” Duncan said out loud making it sound a little bit like a statement than anything else.

“Your point?” Himmel asked sounding annoyed with the obvious announcement.

Malcolm got there quicker. “They’re all Elves,” he added and now it was Dinah’s turn.

“Your point?” she asked.

Malcolm shook his head as Nathaniel caught something that interested him and passed Malcolm stepping over bodies as he went. “Do you read anything the Inquisitor sends?” he asked and Himmel gave the smartass kid a glare.

“Well, she sends so much nonsense how about you clue us in,” he hissed back sounding sarcastic at the same time.

Malcolm rolled his eyes and shook his head as he searched the bodies. “Solas and his agents have had an unhealthy interest in the Deep Roads for a few years now…they’ve been scouring it looking for powerful relics…”

“So he can sunder the world…yes, that I know,” Himmel cut in and Malcolm would have thought the point was obvious but apparently not. He gestured to the pile of dead Elves he was crouched over and it seemed to dawn on Dinah.

“Not long after the Exalted Council all the Alienage’s in Thedas emptied and a vast majority of Dalish clans did too, all to follow Fen’Harel,” she said and Malcolm nodded giving her a slight smile.

“Give the lady a prize,” he said and removed a few potions and valuable things from them before standing up straight. “These are Solas’ agents…they are well armed and have no vallaslin.”

“Malcolm,” Nathaniel called, the torch lighting where he was, he’d moved further down the path to another group of bodies, “you might want to take a look at this.”

His tone told him that something wasn’t right, hell nothing about this was right. It was a good thing that he’d studied up on Solas as Khrys had suggested. He got to Nathaniel with the rest trailing behind him and looked down. Inquisition Armor, three of them…and he knew them. “Sutherland,” he said quite frankly shocked to see him here. It was Khrys’ lost patrol; she’d sent Sutherland, Shayd, and Voth to investigate a lead on Solas but nowhere near where they were now. “Shayd…Voth…Maker, no.”

“You know them?” Himmel asked and Malcolm nodded kneeling down to see if there were any clues on them that could shed some light on how they got there and why they were there.

“This is the group Khrys lost contact with…what in the Void are they doing here?” Malcolm replied as he rifled through Sutherland’s clothes. “They were last seen in Antiva headed for Rivain.” There were a few other bodies nearby, the same Elves they’d been seeing.

“Looks like they were on the same trail…but who was following who?” Nathaniel asked and Malcolm took the bag Sutherland carried with maps, potions, and assorted other things in it. Shayd’s quiver was empty but he did the same thing to her bag and the satchel that Voth carried. Hopefully, there were some answers in them all but he’d have to table that until later. “They bottlenecked them here…looks like they may have been protecting something further down.”

“You think they gave my Warden’s aid?” Himmel asked and Nathaniel shrugged, it was sound theory, it would explain the pattern of bodies they’d been finding and would explain why the missing Inquisition Agents all died near one another.

“Let’s find the Wardens and ask,” Duncan suggested.

They moved on, the air chilled as thick veins of ice lined the walls. Malcolm could still feel the nauseating thrum of unknown power and it wasn’t diminishing, it was getting stronger. Dinah didn’t appear bothered by it but he expected that he was an unusual mage that could feel things others couldn’t. His curse.

Nathaniel found the architecture of the passage they were in to be familiar and not in a good way. He’d seen Dwarven ruins that looked like this before but that was in the Free Marches. The group stopped behind Malcolm as he cocked his head at the great magical barrier about 15 feet ahead blocking the path.

“Spirit barrier,” Dinah said and Malcolm concurred.

“Yeah,” he replied simply and they started to walk toward it. Dinah paused finding more bodies on the ground but Malcolm was more interested in the barrier.

“Xander,” Dinah called softly her tone drawing everyone’s attention but Malcolm’s, “it’s Tara.” She added quietly for the rest of the group. The Dwarf’s body wasn’t alone; it looked like she’d gone to hand to hand after the arrows ran out since there was a female Elf in close proximity to her stuck with a Dwarven blade that Dinah knew belonged to her.

Himmel was getting angrier and angrier, so far he’s lost two of his best Wardens and the growing pit in his stomach told him he was about to find more of the same with Spike and Carver. “Damnit,” he growled in a mix of emotions. Tara was his best scout and he’d known her for quite some time, she’d began a scout for the Legion of the Dead until Himmel and Carver found her in the Deep Roads suffering from the taint.

“Chances of finding the rest alive are dwindling into the single digits now,” Duncan said earning him a glare from Himmel and Dinah. Nathaniel shrugged, he wasn’t wrong, and he praised his bluntness.

Malcolm intuitively knew how to drop barrier, he could hear the discussion going on behind him. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, this barrier is very strong,” he commented and zapped the barrier with a powerful shot of lightening, the magical energy disintegrated with a pop.

They found nothing for several paces past where the barrier was but Nathaniel was severely uncomfortable with where they were. It looked exactly like the Dwarven Thaig from the Free Marches, the one that the lyrium idol came from that started the world down the path that nearly destroyed it.

“Maker no,” he breathed and looked around suddenly having awful flashbacks with the mess that occurred in Kirkwall.

They followed the steps and the chamber widened, Malcolm was nearly overwhelmed by that same thrum of power that got exponentially stronger. He groaned sounding physically uncomfortable and felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh…somethings in here…magical…very strong,” he warned figuring out how to compose himself. He’d never encountered a magical item that made him feel like this, whatever it was it wasn’t normal.

There was a staff stuck in the ground at the mouth of the chamber with three dead Elves around it. “Spike!” Himmel exclaimed recognizing the Elven mage hoping that the fact he was sitting up meant that he may still be alive. He wasn’t, there was dagger through his heart but no one close…it must have been thrown. His trademark spiked staff had a few dead Elves around it leading Malcolm and Dinah to believe that he had turned his staff into a trip mine. As soon as someone got too close whatever its enchantment was killed them.

“Your men fought to the last, Commander,” Duncan commented and Himmel resisted the urge to kill the Prince for speaking. There was still one unaccounted for, Carver, his best friend had better be alive.

He growled loudly in response and stood. “There’s still one left,” he snarled. “Carver!” he shouted.

“That’s good, Commander, call them to us…the good guys and the bad guys,” Duncan admonished.

Himmel could care less if it were Solas’ followers or darkspawn. “Then let them bloody come,” he snapped back at the young man, he didn’t care, he’d lost too many of them. “Carver!”

The chamber was a decent size, almost looked like a Dwarven vault and it had a raised area in the middle. Malcolm’s senses were bombarded with the foreign magic he was feeling but as he crested the first landing of the steps he saw a dead Elf, nearly cleaved in two and a blood trail leading up the second set of steps. He hurriedly sprinted up them and saw him, his Uncle, slumped against the far wall clutching his greatsword like he was ready to come up swinging.

“Uncle!” he spoke before he realized he’d said anything and darted for him. He heard Himmel also as he crashed next to him praying to anyone who’d listen begging them for him to be alive. “Uncle Carver?” he said again and cast his healing spells. Carver was alive, seriously wounded but still alive. “Help me lay him down,” he said to Himmel and Nathaniel.  
“Carver, can you hear us?” Himmel asked as the Warden was laid flat on the stone. Blood was caked on his armor, on his face, and in his hair. There was a hastily bandaged wound on his right leg that Malcolm was sure smelled badly. “Carver?”

His parents may not have gotten along with his Uncle but Carver was always nice to him, he’d always bring him gifts from some far off land or Deep Road that he’d been in. He never resented him for being a mage and he treated him like an Uncle should. Malcolm didn’t see enough of him but he was family and loved him all the same. There was a moment when the people talking around him were drowned out completely. He focused on his healing, diagnosing everything that was wrong with his Uncle, of course he could feel the taint, it was markedly different than Duncan’s but didn’t feel quite as out of control as Nathaniel’s. Nathaniel was hearing the Calling and was considerably older, if he took nothing else away from this little endeavor at least he had a healthy knowledge of the taint from a healer’s point of view. He could feel the drain his body had sustained, sheer exhaustion, loss of blood, an infection, broken bones, lingering effects of a spell, and what felt like a poison though that could have been the taint. He took in a sharp breath and came out of his concentration to someone saying his name, if they were asking him a question he didn’t hear it.

“He’s in bad shape,” he announced and looked at Himmel who was across from him. “Get this off him,” He ordered pointing at the bandage that was soaked through with blood on his right leg. “Dinah, water.” Carver stirred as they began to prod at the painfully infected leg wound and Malcolm put his left hand on his cheek. “Hold on, Uncle.”

Carver was in some kind of delirium, whether it be from fever, sickness, or just plain exhaustion. “Malcolm?” he muttered before grunting in pain as Malcolm poked at the four inch slash on his thigh. It was definitely infected, his Uncle was shivering, but he felt like he was on fire, his leg wound was piping hot, smelled bad, and was inflamed.  
“Can you heal him?” Nathaniel asked and Malcolm didn’t even blink.

“Yes,” he replied and immediately began on his leg. White orbs came from his palms as the spirit healer showed his natural talent for the discipline.

“Nathaniel, come take a look at this,” Duncan called and Nathaniel left Carver in the capable hands of Malcolm and Himmel to find out what the Prince needed him to see. Duncan had taken it upon himself to clear the chamber and had found a little alcove with something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

On a waist high pedestal was a relic the size of a human skull, it had a hexagon shape and was reddish black with a sheen too it. On the pedestal was a strange helix shape that was familiar. “What in Andraste-…” Nathaniel began and then cut himself off.

“You recognize that?” Duncan asked gesturing to the shape and Nathaniel nodded.

“The Inquisitor’s mystery rubbing from the Sea of Ash,” he answered and almost touched the relic but thought better of it. “When Malcolm and Dinah are finished with Carver we’ll have them look at it. I’m not a mage but I can feel this thing is definitely magical.”

 **

Malcolm healed Carver but the Warden still slept, no one blamed him, he was sick and wounded so all he needed to do was recover. Himmel couldn’t wait to ask him exactly what happened and why he was the only damn survivor. Malcolm hadn’t used this many lyrium potions in a while, diagnosing Duncan was fruitless but took a lot out of him and healing his uncle did the same thing. He downed the shot with one gulp as he and Dinah made their way toward what Nathaniel wanted them to look at. Since entering the chamber he felt a magical power so foreign and strong it nauseated him but it seemed he’d gotten used to it the longer he was there. Dinah seemed to be okay which puzzled him to a point but he didn’t have all the facts just yet. There was something about this place that he just couldn’t figure out.

Malcolm cocked his head, regarding the thing that Nathaniel was looking at; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the oddly shaped artifact was the source of his unexplained nausea. “Well, that settles it,” he commented out loud.

Dinah’s brown furrowed as she looked over to him. “What?”

Malcolm didn’t understand, he felt like he had horrible stomach bug, what made her exempt? “You don’t feel that?” he asked and the Elf shook her head giving him the same almost condescending look she’d given him this whole time.

“Malcolm,” Duncan began as Malcolm instinctively kept his distance from the thing, “you immerse yourself in books more than most…thoughts?”

“Why are you asking me?” he asked and stepped toward it feeling the foreign thrum coming off it.

“Whoa.” Dinah commented feeling odd magical energy hitting her like a barrier. “That is weird.” She added as she reached to touch it.

“Now you feel it?” Malcolm questioned, he’d felt this since he dropped that barrier, he had no idea why he could feel it and no one else could. “I wouldn’t touch it, Dinah,” he added as she reached for it. Something told him that wasn’t a good idea and she had the same sense. “I think it goes without saying that this thing needs to come with us.”

Malcolm moved closer to it and Duncan leaned against the wall to the right of the relic. He had a sense for this magical item also but to him it just made him uneasy, same with Nathaniel. “Figured that,” Duncan said gesturing at the mystery symbol. The two mages wanted to investigate it further but were both of the same mind that they really shouldn’t touch it. The feeling, for him at least, could only be described as an overwhelming, resonating presence of raw power. “You okay?” Duncan asked judging how Malcolm looked around the object.

He nodded to him and took a step back from it. “Yeah,” he answered. “I don’t think Dinah or I should touch that…one of you two should carry it.”

Dinah agreed and for once didn’t bicker with the 17 year old mage. For her the strange item simply projected power like an item imbued with a master enchantment. “I agree. It’s obviously connected in some way to the Fade; I’ve never seen anything like it…there’s no telling what would happen if we touched it.”

Nathaniel nodded at the recommendation though not really sure how he felt about toting an obviously magical item around when even the mages he had with him didn’t want to touch it. He could feel something off as well but it was the same feeling he’d had for a while now, the same uneasy feeling, and a feeling of dread. The Calling succeeded in drowning it out but he’d felt it for days…at least now he knew what it was.

 **

It took hours for Carver to regain consciousness, in that time the chamber had been searched top to bottom and inside out. Nothing, literally nothing, of value was found aside from that relic sitting on the pedestal. They had more questions than answers by the time they were finished. The thaig was ancient, barely looked Dwarven, and the last time Nathaniel had seen something like this thaig it was in Kirkwall. The only thing at all besides rocks and dirt in the chamber was the Relic and the pedestal it sat on. What was it? Where did it come from? What did the symbol mean? What did it or could it do? Then there was the trail of bodies, Wardens, Inquisition, and what were most likely Fen’Harel agents, but no darkspawn. They hadn’t seen any darkspawn since the attack in the dark; the Wardens didn’t even sense them. The mission thus far was a success to a point; they’d gathered a lot of information but little to no answers.

Carver coughed as the water passed down his windpipe, he was so thirsty and hungry he just sucked it down as quickly as possible draining the canteen. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing down here, Boy?” he asked firmly taking the bread Himmel passed him and looking at Malcolm.

Malcolm suddenly felt like he was a child again being scolded by his Uncle. Carver hadn’t called him ‘boy’ since he was child. “Uhh…,” he began trying to not feel like a child and cleared his throat, “came down with Commander Himmel to find you.”

Carver devoured the bread in minutes and Dinah handed him some more with a kind smile. He took it and then looked at the rest of the party; he recognized Nathaniel and could have sworn the other young man was the Fereldan Prince. Nathaniel handed him another container of water and Carver gave him a nod. “Nathaniel.”

“Carver,” he responded in kind. “What happened here?”

Carver thought back to what he could remember, he remembered getting attacked on the road and losing Linus right off the bat. “We kept getting attacked by Elves,” he said clearing his throat. “Two of them attacked us, Spike killed one I killed the other…they got Linus…,” he paused and then continued. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost a friend or a Warden. “Tara found the passage from the road, we were attacked a few more times, three Inquisition agents saved us…”

“Sutherland, Shayd, and Voth,” Malcolm said and Carver paused talking to look at his nephew. His armor was Inquisition and he snorted to himself proud of his nephew for going his own way.

He respectfully nodded and continued. “Sutherland told me there was an item that Fen’Harel wants so he can destroy the Veil in this section of the Deep Roads. Apparently, Fen’Harel’s agents knew that too, they followed them down here.”

“Sutherland was last seen in Antiva...months ago…no one had heard from him,” Malcolm said and Carver shrugged.

“He didn’t say anything about that. He only said they had interrogated one of the Elves in Antiva and were followed here by them,” he said and Malcolm’s brow furrowed.  
“How’d they get down here so fast?” he asked and Carver gave his nephew a glare.

Carver was annoyed, he was already exhausted and his patience was thin. “He said through an Eluvian, Malcolm, now may I please continue?” he snipped and Malcolm held his hands out in concession. He knew that tone and felt like he was a little kid again. “Sutherland told us that the Relic was located in this vault and we had to get it before the bad guys did. We went on ahead, they stayed as guard...and it all went wrong after that. We lost Tara, I took a bad hit…Spike put up a barrier…everything just blurs together after that,” Himmel had already reminded him of who all he lost. Carver was just used to losing people, or he was just too tired to be angry about it.

“So the thing Solas has been tearing apart the Deep Roads for is that thing over there. His people figure out where it is, Sutherland beats them here, they find you and you’re both attacked, they send you on ahead, get killed for it, and Solas’ agents proceed to whittle you down to one…,” Malcolm summed up and Carver shrugged, that was it in a nutshell. “This should be fun to report back to the Inquisitor and the Warden Queen.”

Himmel scoffed loudly, he came down here to find Carver and his Wardens and he succeeded but he wanted to find them all alive. Instead he got the sole survivor story, he was grateful that Carver was still alive but he’d never forget the names of those he lost. “None of this would be happening if your beloved Inquisitor had kept her maniacal lover on a leash.”

Only Malcolm’s eyes moved at the disrespectful comment. “I really wouldn’t repeat that in front of her, Commander,” he cautioned his tone low with a hint of a growl behind it.  
Nathaniel situated his weapons and packs eager to leave as soon as possible. “I don’t know about that, Malcolm, it would be fun to watch her turn him into a smoldering corpse,” he commented and Carver’s brow furrowed at the less than stellar comradery he was sensing as Nathaniel turned away to collect the Relic and get ready to leave. He had decided to carry it, everyone else had reported strange feelings around it but he couldn’t tell the difference between everything he was already feeling. The Calling pretty much took care of that.

Carver stood with the help of Himmel and Malcolm. “Something you said, Xander?” he asked with a joke in his voice.

Himmel snorted. “It’s always something I say,” he replied making Carver chuckle. Carver looked down at where Duncan and Nathaniel were. Collecting the relic that a lot of people died for, sure he wanted to know what it was beyond what Sutherland had told him in the speed read portion of the debrief but couldn’t help the dreadful feeling that washed over him, that thing could destroy a lot more than just the Veil.


	14. Solas

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Fourteen: Solas

 

Solas had always been more comfortable in the Fade, life was simpler…things were easier; it was the blind ignorance of others that demonized it. There was nothing to fear in the Fade, there was nothing to fear with the spirits that inhabited it. Going in with an open mind, free of prejudice and misconceptions ensured that most encounters with Spirits ended without someone getting possessed. Solas had awoken to a world where people had no idea what the Fade really was, what spirits and demons were, and have very little understanding of magic itself. It was truly horrifying.

Wandering in the Fade, Solas could see his former fortress in all its old glory, not the Tevinter outpost that was built on top of it and ruined by time, no, his fortress. The Empire had leveled it and built an outpost in its place, forever sealing the main entrance in their haste. While the top was completely destroyed the underground of the old fortress was largely intact, this was where he’d slumbered for so long. Protected by wards and shrouds hiding it from prying eyes and unwanted visitors, Tevinter may have destroyed the fortress proper but they had no idea what lay beneath.

This was home, in the western Free Marches, his former glorious fortress stood, reduced to an unrecognizable ruin. Standing in its place was an abhorred Tevinter outpost. He didn’t like it and swore that once the veil was sundered he’d take great pleasure in pulling that outpost down brick by brick. It was built on the blood of his people. The more he dreamt there the more he couldn’t wait to acquire enough power to rip the waking world apart. He’d witnessed the last stand of his glorious fortress a few times; the Elves sought refuge from Tevinter here, it provided sanctuary, until Tevinter turned an army onto it. In the end…as good as his old fortress was it fell to Tevinter, most of the Elves slaughtered, the rest sold into slavery. The Empire didn’t tear it down right away; it stood for a time longer before it was torn down. He was amused by one dream that centered on the Tevinter garrison left to hold it after the massacre. The decision to level the fortress came when the soldiers couldn’t handle the fact that it was haunted. The veil was apparently thin here and still they have had no idea that he was sleeping underneath.

He cracked his eyes open at the sound of someone calling his name, a soft female voice with a Fereldan accent. It wasn’t the person he wanted waking him from his dreams but he pushed that painful thought from his mind and focused. In any case, he recognized the voice and sat up looking her up and down. She looked a far cry different from the last time he saw her, she looked tired, hungry, pale, basically exhausted. Her name was Piper, a Fereldan Dalish Elf that served as one of his many eyes and ears. Petite, blonde, with two daggers on her back, and a burn on the right side of her face, when she came to him she had Elgar’nan’s vallaslin…he’d happily removed that. He got to his feet and eyed her critically, if she was back that meant her mission was complete. “Piper,” he greeted and let the moment overtake him, “did you get it?”

The Elf looked away from his piercing eyes and shook her head quietly. “No,” she replied and Solas felt the frustration welling in him like a storm, “but I did find it,” she finished and he blinked. “The Wardens got there first, two groups, and we were hampered by the same Inquisition unit from Antiva. We killed the first group of Wardens but their mage erected a barrier that I couldn’t break. I was outnumbered with the second group, they had a very powerful mage and a warrior the likes of which I had never seen,” she went on and Solas was silent allowing her to finish her report, the girl was so tired. “A Warden named Nathaniel Howe took the Relic with him to the surface…I couldn’t follow without detection.”

The frustration had calmed to a simmer, at least the damn thing was found and brought to the surface. He’d spent years and years looking for it…even more years before that researching it in archives that he destroyed. He used what he could in the shattered library to piece together clues about an empire that was even before the time of his own people. That was a really long time ago. Now, it was in the hands of the Wardens…Nathaniel Howe, Warden-Constable of Fereldan and second most powerful Warden south of the Anderfels, if he had it that meant that the Relic was in Vigil’s Keep, Amaranthine’s Warden fortress. _Great…that’s just great._

“Get some food and rest, Piper, you’ve done well,” he said with a kind smile and caring tone. The people who followed him were not slaves, conscripts, or even hired help…they were Elves who wanted a better life than servitude, abuse, and neglect. He offered them shelter and protected them all with the steadfast promise of restoring the People. They believed him a God, he was Fen’Harel, not the trickster or the savage the Dalish tales likened him. He was a protector and a rebel leader.

 **

Nathaniel had returned to Vigil’s Keep wanting to do nothing but sleep, the Calling, however, had other ideas…he couldn’t get more than two hours of sleep at a time because of the noise in his head and the nightmares. Velanna helped, her presence was enough for him but he still didn’t get much rest. It was still a mystery as to what Nathaniel did to capture the prickly Elf’s heart. Velanna’s attitude hadn’t changed much, she was still snappy to anyone she didn’t trust and she could count on one hand all those she did trust. Lydia had asked what made Nathaniel so special since Velanna was still extremely distrustful of humans, she replied with the same thing she’d always said, that Nathaniel was the only human she’d ever met who had a genuinely kind heart.

Nathaniel was private, the Wardens knew that, but that didn’t stop the fraternity-like ribbing that came on every time he came back from a long trip and wasn’t seen for nearly a day. Newer Wardens assumed he was sleeping but anyone close to him knew he didn’t sleep much as of late, so that only left one activity. His blushing and Velanna’s angry face was enough to confirm it but it was all in good fun. Nathaniel’s sense of humor was limited but he could blush with the best of them.

As soon as Nathaniel got back he went straight to his wife, if the Keep wasn’t under attack or on fire the briefing of what had taken place while he was gone could wait until morning. He needed his wife and his own bed. Khrys gave him her hospitality; bed, bath, and food but it wasn’t the same. Now that he was rested, sort of, he attended his regular business. A few ravens from Weisshaupt came in which concerned him to some point. Nothing from Lydia yet, he didn’t know how he felt about that though. One way or another his boss was going to figure out Duncan’s bold faced lie and her next stop was going to be him, he just didn’t know if she’d warn him first.

“Warden-Constable Howe!” Nathaniel heard bellow from a very familiar voice.

 _“Apparently not,”_ his face cringed; he really wasn’t looking forward to this. He’d been dreading the consequences of letting Duncan come along even after recognizing his bogus letter. He hoped Lydia wouldn’t kill him for it. “My Queen,” he greeted turning toward her and gave her a bow, something he really never did. He also didn’t usually address her as Queen. She was Warden-Commander or on occasion Lydia.

Lydia saw right through him. “Oh save it, Howe,” she hissed storming toward him and he grimaced. “Please tell me that _you_ , of all people, didn’t buy my son’s bogus letter in my handwriting? You know my handwriting better than my husband does.”

Nathaniel sighed, lying would be inadvisable, and he just said what was on his mind. “In his defense…he was very convincing,” he answered and nearly laughed to the look on her face.

“In all the time I’ve known you, you wait ‘til now to crack a joke?” she spat and he actually chuckled. “Nathaniel,” she warned and he held up his hands.

“Lydia, look, the kid is eager…if he’s gonna rule in your footsteps one day he needs some experience,” he said and she gave him a bit of a glare. “He did fantastic in the Deep Roads, Lydia.”

She had mixed feelings about that statement, knowing Duncan was shaping up to be a great leader or warrior made her proud…it also pissed her off. “He should not be in the Deep Roads, he is too important to lose to Darkspawn,” she replied and Nathaniel sighed allowing a little frustration to show through. He didn’t need children…he had this; he got stuck in the middle of when Duncan used him as a pick.

“Lydia, he can’t sit sequestered his whole life…Fereldan has a nasty habit of having its Kings lead armies into battles,” he argued and she cocked her head at him, when Nathaniel spoke he usually had a point. He did have a point, a good one. Duncan was young but he had the potential to be a great ruler.

He had a point and the Queen fell silent with a sigh. “How _did_ he do?”

“Fantastic,” he said proudly. “He fights well and he keeps his cool,” he explained. “Made some interesting discoveries though,”

“Such as?”

Nathaniel leaned back on the table. “He can sense the Darkspawn…even before Himmel, Dinah, or I could.”

Lydia’s brow furrowed, that was interesting but then the rest of his words hit her. “Himmel? Himmel, was with you? Are you joking?”

He held up his right hand knowing he was going to get this reaction. “That’s...that’s a whole other story I’ll tell you later,” he answered. “He also had something new happen…Anders’ boy, Malcolm, he deduced that when Duncan is exposed to Darkspawn blood he goes into some sort of berserker mode…I saw him cut through over a dozen Darkspawn in under a minute and that included an Emissary.”

Lydia’s motherly panic started all over again, anytime anyone said anything about exposure to darkspawn blood she defaulted to panic however irrational it was in Duncan’s case. On everyone else it meant the taint and then death, but with Duncan it was different, he already had the taint. “Exposure?”

“Malcolm said he killed an Alpha up close and got doused in blood, got it in his eyes, his mouth, all over his face. I don’t pretend to know exactly what happened I just know that Duncan fought like I’ve never seen a warrior fight,” he explained and Lydia was put at ease but she’d seen Duncan when he returned and he seemed none the worse for ware, if something went wrong Alistair would send a message. There were a few other questions nagging at her so she’d circle back to this one later. “Interesting,” she thought a moment and then moved on. “Now why was Himmel there?” Nathaniel knew that was coming and chuckled quietly and he went into the whole story.

 **

Amaranthine was misty with a bit of chill in the air, Solas enjoyed the weather. Despite the mist, the moon was full and occasionally poking through the clouds. It was a beautiful night, Solas preferred the forests but the coastal setting of misty, chilly, and wet he actually enjoyed. As much as he loved nights like this he also couldn’t help but think of the one person he’d hurt the most. Khrys also loved nights like this though she preferred the snow, a little less so after trudging around in it for hours after Haven, but she loved the snow. He could remember everything about his favorite night with her and it didn’t help that this reminded him of it. Misty and cool night on the Storm Coast, it was a private moment together and completely innocent…that was why he loved it so much.

Solas shook his head in a physical, if not meaningless effort, to shake the memory from his head. He needed to focus instead of circling back around to the woman he still loved more than anything else. Returning to the task at hand he crested the ridge and looked out at the old fortress. Vigil’s Keep was a sight…the Avvar fortress had stood the test of time and now it belonged to the Fereldan Wardens, a gift from King Alistair as a reward for their service during the Blight, Solas scoffed at that, the Wardens shouldered a good portion of the blame for what happened with Corypheus but Solas wasn’t so vain as to let them have all the blame…after all it was he who’d given the Orb to Corypheus. They enabled Corypheus to escape his prison. Tessa Hawke, Anders, and her Warden brother didn’t help much either. The Wardens became Corypheus’ minions, no better than the Templars that became his army.

It wasn’t going to be easy to get inside but it was the middle of the night. Nathaniel was one of the few Wardens that he still had a measure of respect for, he was quiet, direct, and honest but he also kept his head. With all the squabbling and finger pointing as to who’s fault Corypheus was going on in the Fade Nathaniel remained level-headed, even with Anders fanning as much of the flame as he possibly could with the demon rattling around in his head. As he looked over the Keep from a distance he knew Nathaniel would be there, it was his Keep except when the Warden-Commander was there then command reverted to her. He’d heard a great deal about the Warden Queen but had never actually met her, he knew she was a blood mage and he wasn’t sure if she was there or not, if she was he knew enough to be wary given her reputation.

 **

Nathaniel had enough of tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, he laid flat and growled resigning himself to the fact that he was fully awake. There was a constant noise in his head that seemed to get louder when he was trying to sleep; when he did sleep he was plagued with nightmares that were worse than any that he’d ever had. He’d learned to run on about 2 hours of sleep lately, which was all he could manage without being woken by voices and nightmares of darkspawn. He growled in frustration loud enough to disturb Velanna next to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked groggily rolling over to rest her head on his chest.

As good as he was going to be so he lied. “I can’t sleep,” he answered quietly and had to get up and move. “I’m sorry,” he kissed the back of her hand and got up sitting on the edge of the bed.

“The Calling?” she asked as he sighed heavily, he was tired…very tired.

“Yeah…” he replied and slouched for a moment. “It’s getting worse,” he added and then stood thinking about pacing then leaned down kissing her gently. “Go back to sleep…I’m going to walk around.”

Vigil’s Keep was very quiet this time of night but the more he moved around the more he sensed that something wasn’t right. He felt a strange unease in his Keep. Nathaniel collected his bow and decided to walk patrol until he figured out what was bugging him. “Brandon,” he greeted, his usual watch commander, “how is it tonight?”

The young Warden shrugged, it wasn’t unusual to see Nathaniel prowling around in the middle of the night. “Same as usual, Ser, quiet.”

Nathaniel couldn’t help the feeling. “Something’s not right…” he said, “tighten the patrol, quietly.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied and Nathaniel followed his gut trying to figure out what was so wrong with the Keep tonight.

Lydia followed her normal routine, it followed her wherever she went whether she be at the Palace, Vigil’s Keep, Highever, it didn’t matter…in the middle of the night her stomach growled and forced her to pillage the kitchen. Damn the Warden appetite, at least at the Palace she usually had company when she rummaged through the pantry; usually it was Duncan foraging for a midnight snack too.

The Keep’s kitchen was always stocked, full to the brim with everything the Warden appetite could want. The cooks always made extra bread so it could be devoured throughout the day and there was always plenty of cheeses, nuts, fruit, cookies, pies, vegetables…if you liked to cook working in a Warden Keep was a dream come true. Lydia was convinced that Vigil’s Keep had the best cooks out of all the places she wound up staying, they made the best bread and that was the first thing she went after.

She missed Alistair; the longest they’d been apart was when she was in Weisshaupt for nearly a year. Coincidently, that’s when the world nearly came to an end with Corypheus at the helm. While she was gone, Alistair successfully kept Fereldan in one piece with the help of the Inquisition. She was still angry with Duncan but had to applaud his initiative. She chewed him up and spat him back out for lying and putting himself in serious danger. Alistair was angry beyond belief but laughed himself purple when Lydia ranted about all the ways she was going to kill her best friend for being stupid enough to believe the lie.

 **

Solas didn’t like executing people, he wasn’t cold blooded and heartless, he cared deeply and that was precisely the reason he was doing what he was doing, so he gave the Wardens in his way a clean death, a quick snap of the neck. Quick and quiet. This was the second Warden he’d killed so far but it was out of necessity, he couldn’t get past them without being seen so he killed them quietly. Leaving bodies behind meant he had limited time before someone found them so he had to move quickly.

He slipped through the door on the far side of the Keep; he guessed he’d be coming in either by the servants’ quarters or the kitchens. He preferred to do this quietly, didn’t want to hurt anyone he didn’t need to and that included the staff. If he encountered the Wardens that was another matter but innocent people just working in the Keep he preferred not to harm. The Fereldan and Orlesian Wardens were commanded by Queen Lydia, and she’d already stuck a thorn in his plans on several occasions, some of her ranks had mysteriously disappeared over the years and questioned by him so he knew she’d ordered him captured or killed…whichever came easier. He slowly entered and the lingering aroma of food wafted to his nose, the remains of a fire were dwindling in the hearth, dried herbs hung from the ceiling, he still smelled stew and bread…his stomach growled.

He plucked a grape off the sprig in the bowl at the end of the table and kept walking. He passed through the door further into the keep and into a room with more food in it. He scoffed quietly in amusement; he thought Skyhold’s kitchens were bursting with food, it had nothing on a Warden Keep. He enjoyed the smell and came into a room with another large table in it…and a Warden. A woman, small but fit, with long red hair tied back in a loose pony tail. By the look of her she’d come for a midnight snack since she had only loose fitting clothing and no armor on. She saw him also and stood up straight with a look that could only be described as exceedingly suspicious. She clearly knew that he was not supposed to be there and her description fit the one person he didn’t want to find this evening.

He expected to see a few people, he avoided those he could but gave those he couldn’t a nice clean death. Now he was staring across at someone he’d never met but knew by reputation, the auburn haired Queen of Fereldan. She was actually quite beautiful, he’d never had eyes for humans but he recognized beauty when he saw it. At the core of this experienced Grey Warden was a Circle Mage who was so adept with her skills she effectively kept her craft as a blood mage hidden right under the Circle’s nose for years. She was also a formidable arcane warrior, this human blood mage had the ancient elven art, and part of him bristled at that. By her appearance she wasn’t armed with anything but a knife. A knife was all a Blood Mage needed so he had to be careful about any combat.

Lydia froze solid before the Elf. She never even heard anyone enter the kitchen; he was as quiet as a Chantry mouse. She didn’t recognize him and he wasn’t dressed as a Warden, he was a mage the wolf staff on his back was a give way, and he had blue and creamy tan robes with a wicked looking blade on his left gauntlet…she didn’t like him; he was dangerous despite the kind face. She had a suspicion of who this was and she really hoped that she was wrong. This was Solas, Fen’Harel, or as she had come to refer to him, the Arlathan Mage. She had never met Solas; he’d always evaded her in the Deep Roads and left long before Lydia met the Inquisitor. Now she was seeing him for the first time. He was tall for an Elf and she judged he was about Duncan’s height and he was almost exactly as Khrys had described him, right down to the scar on his forehead. If she didn’t know any better he looked sophisticated and kind, but his dangerous prowl contradicted that. His eyes narrowed at her, a chilling expression of a man who was at his wits end, for 15 years he’d pursued his mission and for 15 years Thedas rebelled and denied him.

“You must me Solas,” she said but the ancient mages’ expression did not change. He instead gave her a critical eye, judging her appearance and trying to put it all together with the rumors of her power abilities. Lydia kept her cool; Solas inside the Keep was by no stretch of imagination a good thing.

“Warden Queen,” he replied bowing slightly with a proper tone. He’d been lucky in evading her in the past; he wasn’t in a rush to find out just how talented a blood mage and arcane warrior she was. “I must say it is a delight to finally meet you.”

Lydia’s brow furrowed at him but she didn’t make any sudden moves, he was ready for that. She’d been warned about how powerful the Arlathan Mage was. Solas was, hands down, the most powerful mage in existence right now. He had the power to turn beings to stone with a single thought…she didn’t like that idea since no one had an adequate defense against it and Maker only knew what else he could do. If he hadn’t done it to her already that meant there was something she had that he wanted. She didn’t like the thought of that either. Why was he here? Why take the time to talk to her when he had the ability to just kill anyone in his way? “She warned me you were charming…in a dangerous condescending sort of way,” she commented and found no reaction from him. “What do you want? If you’re looking for Skyhold you are lost.”

Solas actually chuckled slightly at her sarcasm. The Queen had a charm to her, he’d heard the rumors that she had a witty humor, as odd as it sounded…he liked her already. “I come for the Relic.”

Lydia frowned and lifted and eyebrow. “The what?”

His head cocked slightly at her response. “Do not play the fool, My Lady, I know Nathaniel Howe has returned from the Deep Roads with and ancient foreign relic,” he said and began to slowing move closer in a relaxed but confident sort of way. “I want that relic.”

Lydia felt threatened, very threatened, but didn’t react, not yet; he’d be stupid not to be prepared for something. She was running scenarios over and over in her head trying to figure out a way she might get the upper hand on him and raise the alarm in the Keep before he dropped the hammer on her. “And you expect me to give it to you just because you ask?”

Again, Solas allowed a half smile to her humor. “Because if you don’t this entire Keep will die,” he promised in a tone that was downright unsettling. His words were no idle threat, ordinarily she’d take a one man threat like that and laugh but he had turned dozens of Qunari, _Qunari_ , to stone so she was pretty sure that he could do exactly what he promised. “Give me the Relic, My Lady.”

Lydia didn’t respond well to threats, even ones that she’d do better heeding; she took one step toward him in an act of defiance. “No,” she growled and struck first hitting him with a Curse of Torment. Solas grunted at the sting of the spell hitting him right in the face, the spell didn’t have too much of an impact on him but it was enough to disorient him with haunting memories from his past. He heard the screaming when he created the veil killing thousands in the process, heard Khrys’ painful cries as he left her with a disintegrating arm, anything that he held close to him that he could have held in regret hit him all at once. He pushed the memory from his head and sent a lightning bolt to the Queen in response but she deflected it easily with some kind of arcane barrier.

Lydia drew her knife and cut her left hand in a single fluid motion, Solas saw the effect on the blood causing the small amount to spray and defy gravity. The blood swirled and Lydia practically threw it at him, still disoriented a little from the curse he didn’t get out of the way quick enough. Solas felt the magic bind to him and sap his energy. He hadn’t felt the power of blood magic in a long time, and this was powerful, Lydia had rendered him to his knees with one spell. He heard her seethe as she sustained the spell, and grimaced feeling the toll it was taking on him. She was good, better than he ever would have thought, he had to admit that but he wasn’t to be outdone. She may have been good with her craft but he had knowledge of magic no one in Thedas had even heard of. Solas summoned his ancient power and released a pulse of magic that shook the room in a noticeable vibration. The table moved a few feet as its contents shook and a few items clattered to the floor causing a hell of a ruckus. When the burst hit Lydia it knocked her flat on her ass causing the back of her head to crack on the stone floor.

Lydia was dazed from the hit and heard a high pitched noise for a few moments as she brought the world back into focus. He shook the forbidden magic off with an irritated huff. “You’re better than I anticipated, My Lady,” he complimented and moved toward her, next thing she saw was him standing over her. “Now give me the relic.”

“Not a chance,” she replied and stabbed him in the thigh with her knife. Solas cursed with a yelp and Lydia was on her feet. She yanked him toward her pressing her left hand to the right side of his face. “Get out of my Keep,” she snarled as Solas felt the burn of the blood magic, she’d burn his brain from the inside out if she had to. She wasn’t expecting to control him but she was certainly going to try to sap his life away to subdue him or kill him. In response to her magic he put his right hand on her chest and released his lightening. It was a battle of willpower, whose will would supersede the others. Solas managed to overcome the blood magic she was attempting by blocking her out and Lydia was forced to her knees slowly with a stifled cry. Her magic wasn’t working anymore she couldn’t even use his blood to bolster her weakening health…she was forced to submit.

“The relic, Commander,” he demanded as she felt nothing but pain. She refused to scream and Solas let up before he killed her. If anyone aside from Nathaniel knew where the Relic was it was the Warden-Commander…he needed her alive, if she wouldn’t tell him willingly he’d force it out of her. “The relic, Commander, or everyone in this Keep will die until I find it,” he threatened finally removing the knife in his thigh letting it clatter to the floor as he moved around behind her.

Her nerves were burning, he was the strongest mage she’d ever come across, she’d never felt lightening magic like that but it felt like he was holding back. She couldn’t imagine how it would have felt if he went full throttle. She’d never had someone resist her blood magic like that before; he shut her out like he slammed a door in her face. “You can kill us all…you’ll never find it…” she hissed as Solas took a handful of hair and yanked her head back into his waist, “because it’s not here.”

That did not please him; the agent that reported back to him said that the relic had been taken by Nathaniel back to the Keep. She was either lying or his information was bad. The Queen would never willingly tell him, that much he could figure out so he decided to use her tricks against her. The red aura of blood magic emanated from his right hand as he placed it over her temple. “Where is it?” he barked as the magic struggled.

She felt the attempt to control her mind and felt it fail. “Fuck you,” she snapped back squeaking as she yanked her hair harder and tried again.

Blood mages were notoriously hard to manipulate, the very nature of the specialization made them nearly immune to mind control. Weaker ones were easier but still difficult and for a blood mage of Lydia’s caliber, one that had been practicing it her whole life and hadn’t fallen to temptation, it was going to be impossible. “Where is it?” this time the demand was a frustrated growl but still the Queen resisted.

“Over my dead body,” Lydia hissed defiantly.

Solas smirked with a snort. “That can be arranged, Highness,” he replied. His smooth tone did nothing for Lydia. He switched practices to an art he hadn’t used in over a thousand years, his hand flashed with orange light. It was a feeling Lydia had never felt before, magic that she’d never encountered. She felt his hand press to her temple and it felt like he shoved a knife in her eye. “Where is it?” Solas barked. She shrieked in pain and went rigid but nothing more, the ancient magic paralyzed her as he bypassed mind control and manipulation and invaded her mind directly. She continued to resist him; damn blood mages and spirit healers had extremely strong minds. “I will break you, Woman,” he promised as she resisted him, but she wasn’t sure if he spoke it or thought it. He continued to search, kicking his way through her mind. He saw Nathaniel, noticed a written report but didn’t see the Relic, there was nothing he could find in her mind. Perhaps she was truthful, it wasn’t in Vigil’s Keep…but if not there then where was it? Granted this wasn’t his favorite type of magic to use, it had major drawbacks and he needed to be at his full strength to even conjure it, and he was pretty rusty with it but if what he wanted wasn’t able to be seen then the Relic wasn’t in her memory even through her fighting him every step of the way he couldn’t find it. When he thought of the Relic and asked the question her mind took him to Nathaniel…Nathaniel was who he needed.

The presence of another drew his attention and he looked up in front of him recognizing the man. He asked and Nathaniel appeared…that wasn’t how the magic worked but it still amused him.

“You…” Nathaniel growled, he knew Solas all too well, they met for the first time in Crestwood, argued about who was to blame for the Divine’s death while trapped physically in the Fade. While they didn’t always agree Solas didn’t have anything against Nathaniel, he was a good and loyal man who did his duty. That being said, Nathaniel had no compunctions about killing the Elven god and Solas knew that.

Solas swiftly hauled the paralyzed Queen to her feet by her hair using her as a shield and pulling her close to him with his left hand after he’d detangled it from the mop of hair his right hand remain locked in place on her right temple. “Nathaniel,” he greeted.

Nathaniel drew to full on his bow. “Step away,” he ordered but that wasn’t something Solas was going to do.

“Where is the Relic, Nathaniel?” he asked but the Warden did not respond. “Tell me or she dies.” He added.

Lydia was enthralled in some kind of magic and it didn’t even seem like she knew he was there, she never looked at him. She seemed…paralyzed. Nathaniel focused on Solas, Lydia would be fine. “You kill her and you die next,” Nathaniel countered his tone firm and blunt. It was odd that he mentioned the Relic; obviously the Inquisitor was dead on about what her former lover was searching for.

Solas believed the rogue’s words; he’d kill him or die trying. Deciding he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from Lydia he released her and she collapsed face down into the stone. Nathaniel’s reflexes still made Solas jealous as he loosed the arrow the second he let Lydia go. It missed, but barely, as Solas moved making it graze his right cheek.

Nathaniel had fought mages before, quite a few times in fact and side stepped Solas’ fade step. Solas engaged in the rare hand to hand combat, he couldn’t kill Nathaniel so he had to subdue him the old fashion way. The older Warden was nimble and knew how to fight with the bow in close quarters; he landed a hit to the Elf’s chin with the limb but Solas countered. His right hand crackled with magic but Nathaniel swatted it away and Solas responded by stabbing his bladed gauntlet into Nathaniel’s chest.

Nathaniel felt the blade pierce his armor and his body, he’d been through all manner of combat and had been stabbed many times but this was different, this actually felt terminal. The mage had stabbed him in the heart. Solas’ left hand sported the same magic he’d used on Lydia and touched Nathaniel’s right temple entering his mind with greater ease than the Queen’s. Nathaniel had a generous amount of willpower that he demonstrated at Adamant as he resisted the fake Calling but it was no match for the mage wielding ancient magic. His mind was chaos, he was hearing the Calling…poor bastard. Nathaniel was paralyzed like Lydia but he felt the blade still in his chest and thought he had screamed but all that came out was a gasp. He saw Solas’ focused expression and it was burned into his mind, the face of the man that killed him.

Solas tore through his mind seeing the Deep Roads, dead Elves that were once his agents, the Inquisition crew that had dogged his people for months…they were dead…good riddance…he may have known them but they’d foiled his plans one too many times for him to care, a Warden in red armor, a mage he didn’t know but looked familiar, and the Relic…the oddly shaped item with the strange triple helix symbol of the ancient kingdom it came from. Next he saw Skyhold; Dorian, Cullen, the mage he didn’t know, and…Khrys…his long lost love. “ _Vhenan_ ,” he breathed but it was only heard in Nathaniel’s mind. Solas put himself back on course after the momentary lapse and saw the exchange. The Relic was in Skyhold…the Queen was telling the truth. He ripped his knife from the Warden and gently lowered him to the ground. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” he said quietly as blood pooled quickly under the Warden.

He had nothing against Nathaniel and was marginally sorry to have to kill him but part of Solas saw this as a mercy. He was hearing the Calling…he was a dead Warden anyway. He turned his attention to the Queen face down on the stone, still paralyzed from the effects of his mind magic. He knew the effects of the magic; she was aware of what was happening and would soon fall unconscious. She wasn’t a threat to him. The Queen fought well and he enjoyed her charm, in the minutes they’d met he decided that he liked her, he could kill her now but there would be no sport, justice, or cause for it. Someone would be along soon and he’d rather not be there when they did so he left.

He needed to find a way into Skyhold but first he needed to find a way out of Vigil’s Keep. He’d made an enemy of the Wardens this evening, which he understood would make things infinitely more difficult, but he was one step closer to finding the Relic so in the end it was worth it. There were no foci from his kingdom left to drop the Veil so he was looking outside his kingdom, the Relic was perfect. Powerful enough to do what he wanted but dangerous on an apocalyptic scale. The danger didn’t matter, he had to complete his mission, he wasn’t going to let the last 15 years, the heart-wrenching pain of losing Khrys and the life he could have had with her, be for nothing.


	15. The Attempt

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Fifteen: The Attempt

Alistair had never been so angry in his entire life. He wasn’t even sure what he was mad at, no actually, he knew precisely who he was mad at…Solas. He’d given the Inquisition a lot of support and leeway when it came to hunting for the mage over the years. He was bloody hard to find until he showed up in Vigil’s Keep’s kitchen. Lydia still wasn’t the same after what happened. By the time anyone found them Nathaniel was dead and the Queen was unconscious. The Wardens conducted a search of Amaranthine, looking for whatever intruder attacked their Commander and killed their Constable. It wasn’t until Lydia woke up that they learned it was the infamous Solas. Nathaniel was Lydia’s closest friend and when Alistair told her that he was dead it crushed her. Velanna was understandably upset, heartbroken at first, then a simmering blonde rage monster. The prickly Elf had a temper and finding her love dead on the floor while she was sleeping in the Keep angered her beyond reason. Alistair managed to calm her erupting but he got the feeling that her patience was going to be even thinner than his what that moment.

Nathaniel’s funeral was decidedly Fereldan and Alistair gave him full honors, it was a pyre fit for a King. It took Nathaniel nearly 20 years but he finally restored his family name. As a Grey Warden he was one of the greatest, he may have resisted his conscription at first but he embraced the role fully later. There was already talk of a monument being built in his honor at Vigil’s Keep.

Alistair made it across Fereldan in record time with a full head of steam. His anger could be seen for miles and when he got to Skyhold he came in like a storm; unannounced, barging through everything and everyone, found the Inquisitor and began roaring.

“I want him found, Inquisitor, not ‘soon’, not ‘tomorrow’, _now_. Do you get it? Do I make myself clear, Inquisitor?” He sounded like a King…a very _angry_ King and paced before her.  
“Do not bark at me, Alistair, exactly what do think I’ve been trying to do all these years?” Alistair ceased pacing and closed the distance on her by a few steps.

He pointed a finger at her dressing her down like she was one of his subjects, she wasn’t…she was independent, bowed to no nation and no king. She was the Inquisitor. “You find him and you kill him, Khrystabel, if you can’t do that then I will, and if I have to do that I will pull all Fereldan support.”

Losing Fereldan support wouldn’t undo the Inquisition but it would sure as hell make things difficult. They’d enjoyed friendly borders and the free movement that came with that but if Alistair ejected them from Fereldan it would set them back in a huge way. She wasn’t someone to push around no matter how irritated or angry he was. “Do not threaten me, Alistair,” she snarled back her warning ringing clear but he cut her off sharply.

This was spiraling into a mess, Alistair was now being spiteful. “You will address me as Majesty, Inquisitor.” Those were odd words coming from him, he hated when people called him that.

Khrys’ eyes narrowed, she may have been mild mannered but she was no pushover. Solas was a sensitive subject for her, she knew she had to find him and didn’t need any encouragement to do so. “I will address you however I please, I am not your subject. You wouldn’t have a kingdom if it wasn’t for me, so don’t come in here and bark at me. You’re angry; I understand that, I really do.”

Alistair stepped closer to her but she didn’t budge and held his stare. “I don’t think you do!” he yelled back. “You still think you can save him! He can’t be saved. He walked into Vigil’s Keep, attacked my wife, killed three Wardens including Nathaniel Howe, and escaped with no one being the wiser. I know you still love him-…”

“Do not forget that _I_ was his first victim,” she snapped angrily, Solas took so much from her and broke her heart twice. “I will find him but he doesn’t exactly make it easy, your wife couldn’t even find him using his own blood.”

That gave Alistair a moment of pause but he still wasn’t satisfied. “I want him found, Inquisitor…now, last time I say it.” There was venom in his tone; most people thought Alistair was a fool…a childish king but they couldn’t be further from the truth. He may have been flippant, comical, and even a little dense at times but he was a powerful man and when he was pushed past his patience he was downright dangerous. She understood his threat but her silence was an acceptable response for him. He said his peace and set his terms, whether she accepted or heeded them, they were out there.

**

Dorian scratched his head as he reread his notes for the tenth time. When Nathaniel and company returned with the Relic he had the same reaction that any other mage had in the item’s presence. He could feel the power thrumming off of it and the little voice in his head screamed for him not to touch it. That seemed to be the general consensus for every mage but Malcolm; he had a decidedly different reaction to it, a more drastic aversion to it. Duncan, Dinah, and Himmel gave it uncomfortable wary looks but still Nathaniel had carried it. He said that because of the constant noise in his head from the Calling he couldn’t really tell the difference. It was intriguing really and it sparked a little bit of experimentation for Dorian, he brought in every person with a specialty, or that belonged to an arcane order of any type, just to see how wide the reactions were. Wardens felt a distinct sense of dread around it, minus those who were hearing the Calling and then it was obviously difficult to tell the difference, it made the Templars decidedly uncomfortable, every mage could sense its power but didn’t want to touch it, Dwarves showed no reaction, neither did the mundane.

The archivist glared at the ‘paper weight’, as Cullen called it, and was still no closer to understanding what it was then when it was first brought to the them. Solas wanted it so it was important, he needed Cole…Cole was the one who first brought up anything about this thing. Fenris and he had found a ruin west of the Abyssal Rift in the Sea of Ash that contained that unique symbol. According to Fenris the spirit of compassion lost his mind for a few minutes babbling uncontrollably about a cataclysmic event, and then he took a rubbing of the symbol saying it was important. Dorian’s problem now was Cole was not in Skyhold, he wasn’t sure where he was…he might have been dispatched or simply vanished.

Dorian growled loudly in frustration. “Fasta vass! Where is Cole?” he cursed firmly throwing the journal down on the table next to the glossy dark red paper weight. He turned from it and ran both hands through his hair looking like he was ready to tear the shiny black mop clean out of his scalp.

As much as Malcolm didn’t want anything to do with the mysterious arcane object he didn’t want to leave it alone either. He wanted to figure this thing out as much as Dorian did so he volunteered to help research it. Normally, Dorian’s assistant was Bree but Dorian, being the over protective father that he was, staunchly forbid her coming anywhere near it. Bree protested but Malcolm could understand Dorian’s caution, no one knew what this thing was or what it could do, the collective consensus was that it was dangerous.

He looked up from the tome he was flipping through and could certainly say that he’d never seen Dorian so frustrated. The man was a great archivist; he could figure out most anything or find a good place to start, not this time. “Why don’t you take a break,” he suggested. “You’ve been glaring at that thing for what…most of the day?”

Dorian huffed and snatched a book of the shelf angrily flipping through the pages. “Longer than that.” He grumbled back loud and clear, since it showed up he’d been pouring over it stopping only when his brain was so tired he couldn’t read his own handwriting.

“My point exactly,” he heard Malcolm say and Dorian closed that book and repeated the process with another.

“I don’t need a nanny, Malcolm, thank you,” he replied curtly and Malcolm fell silent as he went back to his book.

An hour later Dorian had graduated from glaring at the object to pacing the Vault. Malcolm remained seated in the same spot still thumbing through the Dwarven tome; he tuned out the pacing and the fact that he was frustrated. When Dorian got like this he became as stubborn as a mule, no one could make him go to bed or take a break…it was the Tevinter pride in him, he was so frustrated that he couldn’t figure it out. Malcolm had contemplated mentioning it to Khrys or Bree and would if Dorian didn’t retire of his own accord soon.

“So you felt this before anyone else did?” Dorian asked breaking the long silence as he looked over the odd Relic with a critical eye.

Malcolm didn’t move from his seated position at a table covered in books with his feet propped up on the edge. “Yep,” he replied simply, he could still feel the power pulsing from it but he seemed to have grown accustomed to it and was no longer nauseated by it.

Dorian had already been through this with him but he was asking it again. “So when you did feel it what was it?”

It was the third time Dorian had asked him the same questions but he humored him. “Nauseating.”

Dorian huffed but kept his frustration in check. “Enough with the one word answers, Malcolm, this is important,” he scolded and Malcolm chuckled lowly at Dorian’s irritation.

“Alright, alright,” he replied getting off the chair and moving next to him, “at first I felt nauseated, I don’t really have an explanation for that but the constant pulsing nearly gave me a headache.”

The young man had described it as a lingering hangover…it didn’t help Dorian much since he was the only one to report something different. “And you don’t feel anything now?” It was more of a clarifying question.

Malcolm shrugged and shook his head. “No, I can still feel it but I think I just got used to it,” he said and Dorian’s brow furrowed as he looked from the young mage to the object.

“What makes you so special?” he asked like he was thinking out loud.

Malcolm scoffed. “Thanks, Dorian.”

Dorian intended no offense with his comment, he was thinking out loud. “I didn’t mean that,” he began before realizing that Malcolm wasn’t really offended. “I mean that you’re the only one that seems to have had that type of reaction to this…thing.”

“Nathaniel said it gave him a sense of dread, Himmel and Dinah too,” he said and then thought a moment. “And Duncan said the same thing.”

Dorian snorted, he remembered Nathaniel and Himmel telling him that when they were around the Relic. It gave them a sense of dread. He expected that if one Warden had the same feeling and the second did also it stood to reason that the rest would. “Well, I guess the question of whether or not that boy was born a Warden has been put to rest. All I know is that every fiber in me tells me not to touch it.”

Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, us too…that’s why Nathaniel carried it.”

Dorian harrumphed still trying to piece it together, he’d spent days, weeks, trying to solve the puzzle of what this thing was and why Solas just marched into Vigil’s Keep and killed Nathaniel to find it. “So the Templars say they’re uneasy around it, Wardens feel dread, I can feel it just like any other powerful arcane object, the only people who don’t seem to have a problem with it are the mundane and Dwarves,” he leaned his hands on the table and dropped his head sighing heavily. “I don’t fucking know,” he added his tone fraught with defeat. “There’s no writing, no books, no indications of whatever this thing is or was supposed to be. Usually you find something somewhere but there’s nothing…just this tome unearthed in Seheron written in a language no one in Thedas has ever seen.”

The tome he was referring to rested on the other end of the table, adorned with the same helix pattern that Malcolm had seen in the Deep Roads on the pedestal, and from the rubbing taken in the Sea of Ash. “Look, Dorian, why don’t you go get some sleep. Get some food, sleep, rest…you’ve been going at this thing since it got here.”

Dorian wanted to say no but the kid was right, he was exhausted and frustrated. “Alright,” he nodded finally and Malcolm patting his shoulder with a friendly smile.

“It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”

“Until Solas comes for it,” he replied and kicked himself for daring the Maker to make it so.

“Then he’s gonna have to figure out how to get around a whole bunch of blood wards to do so.”

Dorian didn’t want to tempt the Maker; Skyhold was as secure as it could be under the care of Thom. With the Relic there, if Solas wanted it so much, he would make an attempt for it. Skyhold needed to be prepared. “Don’t tempt him…if anyone can it would be him.”

**

Khrys had gone to her room after finally shooing the Fereldan King out of the Keep; Alistair had every right to be angry. He loved his wife more than anything else in the world except perhaps Duncan, to see her injured feet from her dead best friend must have scared the hell out of him. It was hard for her to be the person hunting the man she was madly in love with still to this day, but the trail of destruction he left in his wake was small but devastating.

“When is Cole due back?” Dorian asked and she flinched in surprise. She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. She also hadn’t realized that she had a few tears streaking down her face, mourning the loss of yet another friend. She’d lost too many people and it all seemed to be tied to her, directly and indirectly responsible.

She had to think about the question he’d asked, it didn’t register right away. “Umm…soon…should be back soon,” she didn’t really have a time frame for when the spirit would come back from his latest mission but normally he’d ‘poof’ in and give his update.

Dorian’s brow furrowed at her tone. “I see the King has left,” he commented moving toward her but she remained at the balcony edge with her back turned.

She sniffled and he didn’t have to see her face to know that the movement of her hand was to wipe tears away. “Yeah…” she replied with a half snort. “I sent Michel and a company to escort him back to Redcliffe.”

“Are you alright?”

She turned to him resigned in the fact that the brave face wasn’t needed with him. “It’s Nathaniel.”

Dorian understood and gave her a sympathetic nod, admittedly, he didn’t know Nathaniel half as well as he should but once you survive a plot of global destruction together you form a bond. “Yes…I heard. Are they sure it was Solas?”

Khrys nodded. “He didn’t kill the Queen…he attacked her first but finished with Nathaniel,” she said and he studied her. As tough as she came across she was actually quite sensitive, she hid it most of the time which was why she was alone in her room mourning the loss of a friend. “This is all my fault.”

“No, no it’s not. You didn’t tell Solas to go and kill Nathaniel and attack the Queen,” he corrected and she shook her head.

“It’s my inept ability to catch one man that caused this,” she countered. “Nathaniel had survived the Mother, the Architect, other Wardens hunting him, Adamant, the Fade…and it’s my former lover, who I can’t seem to catch that kills him, and for what? That bloody relic we have downstairs?”

“Don’t do this to yourself…you can’t save everyone and everyone is not your responsibility.”

Khrys composed herself and sighed, she didn’t want to talk about this anymore, however correct Dorian was, she didn’t see it that way. She took each failure to heart and when it came to Solas she felt responsible. “So…why do you need Cole?” she asked changing the subject.

Dorian thought about pressing her further but allowed her to change the subject. Khrys would blame herself no matter what he said to her, Michel would get her to talk more about it once he returned from Redcliffe so for now he left it alone. “Well, everyone that’s come in contact with the Relic reports different…feelings or symptoms, so far the most unique is Malcolm but I don’t know why. Cole is a spirit…and he was the one who turned us on to this thing in the first place.”

Khrys gave him a single nod, Dorian was smart…he knew what he was doing…he was the best archivist she’d ever met and she knew that most of what the Inquisition had done couldn’t have been done without the rebel magister. “As soon as he gets back I’ll send him to you.”

Dorian nodded but didn’t leave. “Khrys…I told Malcolm I’d pass this on, he has a really bad feeling about that thing to the point the he doesn’t want to touch it. He’s had the strongest reaction out of all of us… there’s some sort of connection he has with it so I think we should heed his caution and be very careful around that thing.”

“Dwarves and the mundane have shown no reaction?” she asked and he grunted a nod. “No one is to touch it. If it needs to be moved let Dagna do it.”

Dorian was already doing that and nodded. He took a moment and observed her; she looked run down…more so than usual. After Solas removed the anchor it weakened her greatly, given the fact that the mark nearly killed her it was to be expected. She was still a powerful mage but now had a great disadvantage. “You should rest, Khrys, are you feeling alright?”

“I’ll survive,” she responded but it did nothing to set him at ease.

He let out a single soft laugh. “That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Dorian,” she warned letting him know that she was now annoyed with him being a mother hen.

“Alright,” he relented grudgingly and stepped up to her kissing her on her forehead. “Goodnight, My Dear.”

**

The air of Skyhold had changed; there was something new, something dangerous that shifted the Keep from proud sorrow to powerful terror. Cole felt it as soon as he entered, he’d never felt something so distressing in his life. As distressing as it was he couldn’t help but be drawn to it, there was terror connected to it, a terror that he’d felt only one place before. The Sea of Ash.

He stood before it in the Vault struck with the overwhelming fear he’d felt in that ruin. It sang to him, not like the beautiful tune of lyrium but a harsher warrior’s chant, it felt like destruction. This was unlike any magic he’d felt before and it terrified him. “Chaos. Death. Destruction. So many died. In a blink. In a flash, a deafening sound that took them all. All dead because of one man’s arrogance,” Cole muttered as he descended into his uncontrollable ability.

Malcolm, Dorian, Bree, Fenris, and Khrys looked on, no one said anything, rather they just watched and listened. Fenris had seen this before but not as controlled, he heard much of the same in the Sea of Ash, it weirded him out then and it weirded him out now.

“Power. Pulsing. Pounding. Thrumming. Power building until there could be no more and then… boom…all that remained was ash,” he continued there was sorrow in his voice and the unmistakable tone of fear.

The spirit quieted and he gave the object a sorrowful look. “Everyone died,” he said quietly. “The ash is their grave,” he began to weep, he couldn’t help it, the catastrophe caused by this foci was beyond anything anyone could imagine. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was minor compared to what this thing caused.

His prolonged silence made the group with him look at each other unsure about what they were hearing. It was obvious the Relic was dangerous but to know that it could have caused the current state of the wasteland was alarming. “Cole?” Khrys spoke her gentle voice was always soothing to Cole but it cut through like glass and he flinched. “What is this thing?”

“The answer,” he answered his voice sorrowful.

Malcolm’s brow furrowed as did Dorian’s but they remained silent allowing Khrys to speak to the spirit of compassion. The cryptic response even earned a confused look from Bree but she too said nothing, just listened.

“To what?” Khrys continued.

“What Solas wants, what he needs, this will end it all…good or ill,” he replied and felt the uncomfortable shift of the people in the room. They should be scared… _Solas will destroy us all with this_. He reached out to touch its glassy surface and heard Dorian caution him but touched it anyway. He hand tingled at the touch, running up his hand until his while body tingled…he’d never felt anything like this. It was unnerving and exhilarating, the terror built in him as the emotions crashed together. Imagines flashing across his eyes, a great tower, a Spire of red surrounded by a red desert, the wasteland now covered in ash. A great flash blinded him and erupted in all directions and suddenly the Spire of red was gone as ash rained down…only the Relic remained. Cole screamed in anguish and recoiled from it and backing away swiftly running to the shelf behind him terrified of what he’d seen.

He slid down to the floor wrapping himself into a tight ball like a child who’d seen something horrifying. He rocked back and forth hugging his knees to his chest. “So much death. They all died in a flash.”

Bree leapt to his side with wide eyed concern, Cole was exceedingly deadly but his gifts rendered him childlike when faced with something that was truly horrible. She did her best to calm him but he was still in a panic. “Cole. Cole, it’s alright, you’re safe.”

“None of us are safe,” Cole replied. “Why did he do it? He turned it on but never turned it off. Why did he do it?”

“Shhh, Cole,” Khrys cooed and knelt down beside him, “it’s alright.”

Cole shook his head. _They don’t understand. They can’t understand._ “Malcolm, I want to leave.” Malcolm could protect him, he could protect them all…he was the only one who could.

Dorian and Fenris looked at each other and then to Malcolm but he was just as confused at being singled out. He shrugged as it sounded like Cole was asking for him to protect him like a parent would a scared child. Cole got to his feet slowly but didn’t look at the Relic; he kept his eyes down and didn’t look at anyone else either. He felt Malcolm’s hand touch his left shoulder. The powerful protector; healer and destroyer, he was the one.

“Come on,” he said softly and Cole looked at him with an intensity that made the mage blink. He said nothing and scurried out of the Vault with Malcolm behind him.

With Cole and Malcolm gone Dorian spoke to break the silence. “Well, that was enlightening,” he commented and Khrys scoffed.

“I hope you got what you needed because I don’t think we’re going to get Cole anywhere near this thing again,” she said as Bree drew closer to the item but didn’t touch it. It pulled to her, its great magic was obvious.

“What did he mean ‘why did he do it? He turned it on but never turned it off.’?” She asked and Dorian put a hand on her left arm, a gentle order to move away from it. She obeyed.

“He said the same thing in the ruin,” Fenris answered. “That place smelled of death, long past but the land was steeped in it. Whatever catastrophe happened, a lot of people died all at once.” The elf was obviously uncomfortable around the Relic, a foci of unimaginable power that had all the mages, spirits, and members of arcane orders unnerved by it.

“No one is to enter this Vault unless it’s Dagna, Dorian, or I,” Khrys ordered and gave a pointed look at her daughter who, for once, didn’t argue this time.

“And Malcolm,” Dorian added and Khrys canted her head slightly at him then nodded, deferring to his judgment.

“Guards on the Vault, round the clock, Templars and Dwarves, no mages,” Templars could counter magic though none had encountered an arcane object such as this and Dwarves seemed to be immune. Seemed like a good set up so she went with it until something else presented itself.

**

Khrys enjoyed the silence of her chambers; the only noise came from the popping crackle of the fire in the hearth. She spent her evenings as she usually did, reading private correspondence or a book at her desk. This time it was letters, a long winded letter from Gaspard, she giggled at the idea that Jean-Fredric was spending a great deal of time waiting for the next letter from Bree. Dorian may have wanted to hang himself with the pairing but Khrys was actually pleased with it. Gaspard may have treated it like a political match but Khrys could see that Jean and Bree had a genuine connection, only time would tell if it was real or not. While Jean was waiting for letters from Bree, Bree was anxiously awaiting the same from him. The whole thing made her giggle.

She remembered similar feelings when she first met Lathan; he was a dashing hunter that made her laugh. It was fun as they went back of a forth courting each other. Lathan was kind and quiet but sensitive. He was a romantic and quite often Khrys missed the point that made it all the more cute and funny. Her mind came back from her memories from so long ago; Lathan’s down fall was his emotions. While she survived the miscarriage of her first child he never did. He went to a dark place and never came back. She found him dead…a scene that haunted her still. Khrys blinked and returned to the letter in her hand.

She never saw the figure that covered her mouth, she smelled the familiar scent of leather and sweat and screamed into the hand when a very sharp knife pinned her right hand to the desk top the letter from Orlais she had been reading. The man’s hand was large and covered nearly half her face, even pinched her nose to the point she through he might suffocate her. Her mind told her she could still breathe but if his hand shifted from this painful grip she just might not.

The knife stuck in her hand was painful, every little movement hurt as he attacker used it to subdue her. He must have known she was a mage, a mage with one hand, take away the hands and it’s very difficult for a mage to cast. She cursed herself for being so vulnerable now. There was something else though…she tried to summon magic but nothing came…a strange and unfortunately familiar feeling crept up her arm like a spreading illness…magebane. This was no accident; he knew she was a mage.

He pressed the blade into her hand harder hearing it creak into the wood below. “Not so untouchable now, are you, Inquisitor?” his words were a hiss into her left ear, a taunt. _How the hell did he get in here?_ “Cry out and you die,” he promised, his accent sounded Tevinter, a less refined version of Dorian’s and gruffer than Fenris.

He was going to kill her anyway so she wasn’t going down easily and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of baying like a wounded baby. Someone would be along if she couldn’t figure out how to get out of this. Michel was gone and would be for a few days, it was possible Bree would be along but that terrified her thinking her daughter would be placed in danger. She needed Fenris or one of her Templars…if they we’re already dead. “Then kill me!” she spat back with a vicious snarl against the hand that had a painful handful of her hair. “But you’ll never make it out of here alive.”

The attacker mused arrogantly. “I got in,” he replied and felt her hair get yanked to punctuate the fact that she was in real trouble. He slammed her face into the desk with dizzying force and she felt blood pour from her nose as he did it a second time. This time she was able to turn her head to her right and cheek hit first, pain exploded through her face, and then a third time, this time he split her lip. He was enjoying this…if he was an assassin he missed the point.

Khrys heard the faint sound of voices down the steps one of them was exactly who she needed. Fenris. Fenris would kill this man…simple as that. “Fenris!” she shouted and her attacker slammed her head to the desk for the fourth time so hard she nearly blacked out.

Fenris had been walking up the steps with Bree, chatting about various things when he Khrys’ voice echoed off the stone. Her tone was urgent, something was wrong; he pushed past Bree and shot up the step using a grand total of four along the way. He heard her yelp in pain as something hit the desk, hard, his focused narrowed as he crested the top of the steps seeing Khrys being assaulted by some unknown hooded man in roguish armor.

The rage ignited within him, there was a knife staking Khrys’ right hand to the desk, he could smell the blood that was pooling on the desk and draining down her face. He didn’t question or even think he barely heard Bree yell for her mom behind him as his body flashed with lyrium. The Elf fazed ethereal and covered the distance in the blink of an eye appearing next to the hooded rogue sending his fazed right fist through the left side of his head.

Khrys felt her attacker release her hair and knife then gurgle a disgusting sound, blood and gore splattered onto the ground and all over her and the desk. She heard the body crumple to the floor with a thud and then a few seconds of silence before she could see Fenris. It took a few moments for the aura to disappear but it did when he looked down at her, a singular look of total rage on his face.

“Mom!” she heard Bree exclaim as the girl sprinted to her mother as Fenris’ gore soaked right hand poised to pull the knife out of her hand.

“Hold still,” he coached and pulled the knife in a quick, clean motion. She winced but didn’t make a sound. She withdrew her hand the moment it was free and cradled it to her chest, Khrys shot to her feet wanting to get as far away from her attacker as possible. Fenris didn’t screw around; the man’s head was a blood heap of bone and gray.

“Get the guards,” Fenris ordered Bree and she scurried out swiftly, Khrys swayed as the world spun and the pain in her head throbbed. “Are you alright?” he asked and was at her side in an instant steadying her as Bree vanished down the stairs calling for her Templar guards. He examined her face; it was a mess, blood stained her hair and had streamed down her face from her nose and split lip onto her night gown. Bruises were already starting to form on the side of her face and forehead and more blood was dripping off her hand and onto the floor. He snatched a cloth from the wash basin and offered to wrap her hand.

“Yeah,” she answered quietly as he wrapped her hand tightly, to her credit she wasn’t trembling… she was rock solid still. Shocked. She cursed herself for being so weak now, so vulnerable, and easy to subdue. The once powerful Necromancer and Fire Mage who’d taken down dragons, demons, and Corypheus himself was surprised and subdued by a rogue with a knife. “Thank you,” she said locking her icy blue eyes with his green ones. She was sincere, more than sincere, he saved her life…she was certain of that.

This was why he was here, when he first started with the Inquisition his job was mainly to protect her. He nominated himself for the job when he stopped an assassination attempt on Khrys by the Antivan Crows, since then he protected her. “You have no need to thank me,” he assured and glowered at the bloody remains of her attacker.

**

Before long her chambers were teeming with a flurry of people; Cullen, Charter, Thom, Dorian, Malcolm, just to name a few. Malcolm was the last to arrive and calmly walked up the steps into the commotion, it was like someone kicked a beehive. It was late; no one was going to sleep tonight, not until they figured out how this happened.

He could smell the blood in the room and saw the body of the assassin by the desk. Khrys’ clothes had blood on them, and so did her face, but her injuries appear to have been healed by a mage already. He was sorry he didn’t arrive sooner.

Malcolm examined the bustling chamber wondering the same thing everyone else was wondering: how did the assassin get in? There was only one way into Khrys’ chambers and unless her two Templars were asleep on their feet they would have seen the assassin walk right by them.

He could hear the Templars being dressed down by Cullen and Thom and sympathized with Gerard and Declan. There was no way an assassin could have gotten past them. These may have been new Templars compared to the ones that had guarded Khrys since Haven but they took their work seriously. They protected Khrys from outsiders and from herself. Lysette was present as well, hissing at Cullen and Thom for the accusation that they let someone past them. It was an argument that was carrying but no one had actually done anything to stop it.

Gerard and Declan were adamant that no one entered after the Inquisitor retired for the evening and so far Malcolm was inclined to believe them. Cullen and Thom, however, wanted the responsible party yesterday. Cullen took the Inquisitor’s safety seriously and Thom couldn’t ignore the repercussions if this was his fault. He was in charge of Skyhold’s security. One thing they knew for sure was that Michel was going to be pissed when he heard about this.

Malcolm tuned out the bulk of the harsh words and concentrated on what he was looking for, slipping back into the training he’d gone through in the Wilds. Zevran taught him pretty much everything he knew and Cole did the rest. Zevran’s training was what stuck with him the most. ‘If I were an assassin…’ was initially a game Zevran taught him as a kid, the older he got the more he realized what the former Crow was doing, it wasn’t a game but an invaluable tool.

He passed what was left of the ‘would be’ assassin ignoring the gruesome sight; Fenris was an efficient bodyguard. Dorian was crouched over the lifeless body looking like he was examining him for clue to his identity. From what Malcolm could observe, the assassin was in fine leather armor, plain in shades of dark brown and black. He noticed his boots, finely crafted and they reminded him of boots Dorian wore. _Tevinter?_ Next he noticed the blade that still had blood on it tossed onto the desk. He stepped to it and quietly picked it up. He felt it before he touched it…Magebane. The blade was coated in Magebane so he handled it carefully. It reminded him of Bree’s knife, the one Fenris had given her for her birthday, its style and craftsmanship screamed Tevinter although this one seemed to be made of serpentstone and not silverite like hers. He put it back down and regarded the dead assassin again, had Fenris not killed him on sight Cole could have gotten everything they wanted out of him but what was done was done and Malcolm moved on.

Besides the door, the only other way in were the terraces and he stepped out onto the one to the right of the room. It’s true they were open and exposed but unless you were a bird or had thrill seeking issues it wasn’t much of an access point. Still, it made sense; the determined and experienced could make it work. He thought of how he would gain access without walking through the door past two highly trained Templars…the terrace was it. This terrace faced the mountain side; it had another terrace directly below it and then the sheer drop off to the Frostbacks below that. He made a face and then a cold wind slapped him as he leaned over to look. He grunted to himself and moved on to the other terrace. This one faced the keep and dropped down onto the battlements, much easier than a free climb up a mountain.

There were no ropes, no chains, no hooks, not even a scuff, nothing that stood out as suspicious but unless the assassin had wings he had to have climbed up. Malcolm leaned over the edge as far as he dared and allowed a smile; that assassin may have been doomed from the start but at least he was inventive. He turned and went back in observing the room. Fenris still looked angry, glaring at everything, he didn’t blame him. Bree looked as solid as she ever was but he knew her well enough to know that she was deeply concerned for her mother. Dorian, surprisingly, was silent and investigating the body…he must have come to the same conclusion he had; he was from Tevinter, which didn’t bode well. Khrys was pale and looked tired but actively engaged in conversation with Charter, he attributed her lack of color to the magebane. The stuff was nasty; he’d never forget his encounter with it.

“I know how he got in,” he announced his tone soft but raised enough that most everyone in the room could hear. The room went silent as all eyes suddenly fell on the lad.

“What?” Thom demanded, his tone harsh but not hostile, his serious but professional tone, and stepping closer to him. The gruff man wasn’t threatening him just alarmed that the fortress had been breached for the first time in a long time.

“I know how he got in and it wasn’t through the door,” he repeated though aiming the last part to the Templars was a slight nod. This wasn’t their fault and he wanted them to know that. As much as his father warned him and went on and on about how horrible Templars were they’d never done anything to him, and these two were good men. Gerard and Declan returned his nod silently thanking him for backing them up.

Cullen and Thom looked at each other and then back to Malcolm who’d gained a very attentive audience, even Khrys had come forward. Malcolm looked down at her hand now healed by another before he got there. “How?” Cullen asked and Malcolm gestured for them to follow.

“The terrace?” Thom questioned disbelieving. “No one could come up this way…not without a rope or hook or…”

Malcolm interrupted him with a small sigh. “And there are none,” he said simply.

Khrys scoffed, this couldn’t be this hard to figure out. He had to come from somewhere. “Well, he didn’t fly in,” she added, Skyhold was impenetrable to anyone but a damn dragon.  
Malcolm snorted with a half-smile. “That’s true, but it’s the way I would have come,” he replied and was met with the reaction he expected. They all saw him as young and untested when the truth was very different. Sure he was young but he’d spent the majority of his life learning to hide in plain sight.

Khrys’ and Dorian’s brows furrowed and Fenris looked impatient, Bree cocked her head, Cullen was silent and Thom scoffed. “You and your vast experience?” he mocked.

Cullen felt like the young man was onto something; he wouldn’t put on this show if he hadn’t, and held up a hand to silence Thom. “What are you getting at, Malcolm?”

Malcolm jumped up onto the ledge and turned to face them. This was going to be better just to show them…literally and he cackled inside, he did like to show off and this was one of those moments. “I said there were no ropes, chains, or hooks…” he backed off the ledge.

The group suffered a collective heart attack as shocked gasps, short screams, and people barking his name in fear all came at once. Cullen was the first to the ledge and a heartbeat later the rest were all peering over hoping not to see a splattered mess on the battlements, a smile spread across his face as he looked down to see Malcolm dangling from his right hand on bolt driven into the wall where the terrace’s architecture curved. Cullen was impressed, so very impressed; Malcolm was an impressive young man and proving to be an invaluable investment for the Inquisition. “Find out where he came from,” he ordered and Malcolm nodded looking for the next bolt to drop to.

**

Malcolm grunted with effort as he dropped from one bolt to the next. The bolts fired into the wall of the tower must have penetrated deep as they had no issues supporting his weight. That told him that an enormous crossbow must have planted them there. The last bolt was a good eight feet off the ground so Malcolm dropped the last few feet, confusion evident on his face. “Why plant the first one so high?” he asked out loud to himself. He examined the wall and didn’t see evidence of one that didn’t plant but there was a boot scuff about waist high causing his furrowed brow to deepen. He looked up at the first bolt and leapt for it missing the bolt from a standing leap.

He harrumphed and moved on checking the ground and moving in the trajectory of the bolts, they had to come from somewhere and the crossbow that fired them would need to be huge.

“Malcolm,” he heard Bree call and he turned to track the voice. “Wait up.” He waited and looked at her with an indifferent expression. “Shouldn’t you wait until morning? Better light?” she asked and he shrugged, the moon was full so he could see fine with the light beaming off the snow.

“I can see fine,” he replied, he always could see in the black, just like his mother. “What are you doing down here?”

“I want to help,” she answered honestly. “Someone just tried to kill my mom.” Her tone was sincere and he couldn’t blame her, if someone had tried, and nearly succeeded, to kill his mother he’d be on the front line too.

Malcolm gave her a nod, Bree was fine company and he didn’t mind having her around, she could fight and her training as a Knight-Enchanter was coming along quite well. “You didn’t want to follow me down?” he asked gesturing to his method of getting to where he was.

She scoffed at his playful snipe. “Dad wouldn’t let me,” she said and he chuckled before turning from her to resume his tracking. “Alright, come on.”

Malcolm didn’t say much as he scoured for clues, Bree didn’t expect him to be chatty, he was always focused and when tasked with something that confounded him he was even quieter…that was how you knew he was perplexed. It was obvious they were looking for the unusual, tracks, ropes, hooks, anything out of place.

“What are you looking for?” she asked as Malcolm rifled through sacks and barrels that were normally used for staging a storage. So far he had found nothing and that bothered him.

“A big ass crossbow,” he answered and turned to look behind him, keeping as straight a trajectory as he could on the tower. “Any bolt that big and sunk that deep would need to come from a huge crossbow, he didn’t have one on him so unless he tossed it over the side he had to have stashed it.”

Bree understood now and nodded. “And if he tossed it over the side?”

Malcolm sighed and put the top back on a barrel. “Then I guess I get to go down and find it.” That alone would be nearly impossible.

“How do you think he got in?” she asked as she checked a barrel but found nothing but a stash of daggers and arrows.

Malcolm didn’t know yet, he’d been thinking about it…obviously the assassin climbed the tower to get to her but Skyhold was crawling with guards. “I don’t know. I know he had enough freedom to shoot over a dozen bolts into the side of the tower, stash the crossbow, and then climb it without raising an alarm.”

“On a night with a full moon,” Bree added and Malcolm nodded.

“Exactly,” he replied.

“Or he tossed it,” she reminded and he shrugged at that.

“Either way…he still had an enormous amount of freedom.” That was the most trouble part of all this, you couldn’t got 2 minutes in Skyhold without finding a guard, especially on the battlements. Solas’ threat was too great and Thom took no chances. Do we have a traitor? They moved on checking corners, stairs, and the supply caches.

“Mal,” Bree called in a slightly raised voice and he came over see what she had found. She had the top of a barrel off and inside was a truly massive crossbow. The biggest hand held one you could find that didn’t require extraordinary measures to use it.

It was awkwardly stuffed into the barrel and had snapped the shafts of several arrows beneath it. Malcolm reached in and removed it feeling its weight. “That’s a Siege Bow...,” he commented examining it, to make it worse, it had the mark of the Inquisition on it. “One of ours....” This was odd, the siege bows were supposed to be locked away in the armory not stashed in a barrel on the ramparts.

“This isn’t supposed to be here,” Bree said voicing what he was thinking.

“Yeah, no kidding…siege bows are for a siege or to unconventionally gain access, you can’t just lug one around Skyhold,” he agreed as she rifled around through the barrel to see if anything else was in there. Nothing. Just what was supposed to be in there, some short bows and arrows, most of which had been broken by the weight of the crossbow hastily stored on top of them.

“We should tell the Commander,” she said and Malcolm whole heartedly agreed. You couldn’t just walk up and take a siege bow, they were locked in the armory and guarded round the clock, no one just needed a crossbow like this, there was no need.

**

It was the middle of the night and still no one had slept, no one was going to sleep either, Cullen had cleared the Inquisitor’s chambers, the body removed and maids began cleaning. Khrys would stay in another room in the keep tonight until her chambers were cleaned. She needed to rest. Magebane had lasting effects on mages until it was out of their system. Magic couldn’t heal that, no one could pry Fenris from his post as her bodyguard now and her guard was doubled. A bit late for that but she didn’t argue with Cullen when he ordered it. Two more Templars were added to her detail for the time being and Gerard and Declan relieved by Lysette. Khrys rescinded the order, she trusted them and they happily remained at their post.

If there was one person who really needed to sleep it was Cullen, he wasn’t as young as he used to be and with his Lyrium withdrawal rearing its ugly head again he was quite unpleasant to be around when he was irritated but the Commander refused to retire for the evening until he got to the bottom of what went wrong and who screwed up.

Thom was just as irritated but was growing more and more irritated with Cullen barking at him. He was short tempered right now and Thom knew that. He’d listened to him for hours and he could understand his frustration, Skyhold had enjoyed years of security under Thom’s watch, only one breach since he was given control of the Guard. Ordinarily, most people would chalk it up to bad luck or something to that regard but this was too damn close. They almost lost their Inquisitor. He wanted to know what happened as much as Cullen.

Thom stood quietly in front of the Commander’s desk as he scribbled out orders and the door to Thom’s right opened. It was Malcolm with Bree.

“Commander,” Malcolm called balancing the heavy crossbow on his right shoulder.

Cullen looked up from his hasty writing and canted his head at Malcolm carrying what looked like a siege bow. “Malcolm?” he said dropping the quill and giving him his full attention. What had he found?

The mage dropped the bow on Cullen’s desk with a heavy thud. “We found that where it shouldn’t have been.”

Cullen blinked to the crossbow now occupying a huge portion of his desk top. “A siege bow?”

Malcolm nodded, to him that was obvious. “More than capable of sinking those bolts into the side of the tower.”

Thom examined the crossbow and looked to Cullen. “It’s one of ours.”

Cullen’s irritation was growing, not only had someone infiltrated the Keep but that person may have figured out how to liberate a siege bow from a guarded armory. That was extremely troubling. “Inventory the armory and question the guards, all of them, on duty and off…and send word to Redcliffe, get Michel back here now and stress to him that this Inquisitor is fine,” Cullen ordered, as of now he and Thom were at odds, Thom was a good Captain and Skyhold was very secure under his eye so it begged the question of who dropped the ball and let an assassin into the Keep.

Thom could see where Cullen was going with that and eyed him carefully. “Cullen, these are my men, I handpicked them and I trained them myself…you’ll have no traitors in my ranks.”

Cullen wanted to believe him, he really did. “Prove it,” he growled and Thom bit his tongue, he didn’t bother to argue or question Cullen’s order and left the office without another word. Cullen’s eyes moved to Malcolm and Bree, he didn’t wonder why Bree was with him; they had been inseparable since they were 8 years old. “What else did you find?”

Malcolm shrugged with a hint of respect for the ill-fated assassin. “Very little actually…he was a very good infiltrator, the only reason we found that was because it probably wasn’t very logistically friendly to return it after the bolts were set.”

Cullen sighed with tired irritation. “Keep looking…report to me if you find anything,” he ordered and Malcom nodded.

“You should sleep, Cullen,” Bree said and Cullen longed for his bed and the embrace of his wife, “you’re no good to us worn out.” He said nothing and just gave her a small nod as she and Malcolm left.

**

The sun had come up over the mountains and Malcolm and Bree searched the castle backwards, forwards, and upside down. The result was exactly nothing. Not one damn thing. The only thing that still puzzled Malcolm was the high bolt.

He returned to the base of the tower and looked up at the first bolt. This had been bugging him all night, why set the first one so high up you couldn’t jump to it? He looked up at it and sighed heavily with a furrowed brow. A single scuff mark on the wall didn’t make for much evidence.

“What’s up?” Bree asked moving up beside him and looked up at the bolt he was practically glaring at.

“Why would he set the first one so high?” he said out loud and Bree glanced at it then looked at Malcolm.

“Really?” she asked and he looked confused by her tone.

He knew that tone, she knew something he didn’t. What had he missed? “What?”

Bree rarely got the chance to show him up; Malcolm had always been a natural at most everything; fighting, learning, survival, even his mage talents came as naturally to him as breathing. The smile on her face made Malcolm’s brow furrow more as she passed him her staff. “Observe,” she said simply and backed as far from the wall as possible before dashing toward it at a full sprint. She blew past him and reached the wall at full speed before leaping for the bolt pushing off the wall with one foot. Bree almost didn’t make it; she was considerably shorter than the assassin but managed to get a hold on the bolt.

Malcolm’s head canted to the left. _Am I really that dense?_ “Now why didn’t I think of that?” he commented with a dissatisfied huff loud enough for her to hear him and casually made his way closer.

Bree dangled for a moment chuckling and looked down at him. “Because you don’t know everything, your greatness.”

“Yeah, yeah, come here,” he grumbled and practically caught her as she dropped from it and into his arms.

**

Skyhold was locked down completely, no one left and the only ones allowed in were vetted and questioned. Mostly the people returning were agents that had been recalled. Michel had returned 3 days after the attempt on Khrys’ life. He got the message from Skyhold and double timed it back to the Keep. He stormed through Skyhold with a fury he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Hearing that there had been an attempt on her life while he was escorting Alistair made him feel like he’d failed again at protecting someone he cared for.

“Khrystabel!” he called sprinting up the stairs, no mean feat while in full armor. “Khrys!”

“Michel.” She breathed a sigh of relief and ran to him.

Michel had been terrified for the entire ride back, an assassin made it into Skyhold and very nearly killed her…and where was he? He was off in Redcliffe escorting the Fereldan King away from the Inquisitor. He could have stopped it before he hurt her. He embraced her tightly and felt some of fear disappear. “Oh, love, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She replied before kissed her cupping her face like he’d never let her go again.

“I’m sorry, my love, I should have returned sooner.” He said and she took his left hand.

“I’m okay, Vhenan, Fenris was there.” She told him as Michel examined her, he’d been told she was injured but he saw nothing…the Mage’s must have healed her injuries.  
“Then I shall pay him immensely to thank him for that.” He replied.

“Did Alistair get away okay?” she asked changing the subject. Michel blinked to her trying to reassure him that she was fine.

“He was silent the whole time,” Michel replied. “sullen more like. What happened here?”

“We’re still figuring that out.” She said and turned from him. Michel noticed the stain on the floor where some of the blood had pooled. His blood boiled. The anger he’s always felt that was carefully kept in check threatened to surface. It sickened him to think that she was nearly lost to an assassin when he was in Redcliffe. “We suspect one of Thom’s guards, Ross…they’re still interrogating him.”

“Ross? The Redcliffe boy? That can’t be.” He commented with the same floored tone the rest of them had when Cole deduced he was lying. He was Thom’s star pupil and the trust Thom placed him was substantial.

“Apparently it can.” She replied and Michel’s brow fell, he could see betrayal she felt. The idea that one of her own trusted guards betrayed her and allowed an assassin into the Keep crushed her. She’d done so well over the years and Skyhold was the most secure Fortress’ in all of Thedas.

“Khrys, I promise, I will not allow this to happen to you again. Not ever. Not as long as I draw breath.” It sounded more like an Oath one that made her smile. She knew Michel wouldn’t have made a difference there but it warmed her heart to know he cared so much.

**

Bull scowled at the gate guard on his way into Skyhold, he’d been stopped by a guard who clearly had no idea who he was, he was just doing his job so at first Bull was fine with following the procedure…then it became far more irritating. Thankfully, a guard who knew him took over and let the Qunari merc inside. Bull didn’t blame the guards for being cautious, he’d heard all about what happened and was here with information, information that Khrys really wasn’t going to like.

He trotted up the steps finding the Inquisitor in the War Room with Dorian, Fenris, Michel and Cullen. He gave Dorian a mere passing once over, whatever was between them or ever could have been between them ended in Starkhaven. Dorian’s face was a mix of apprehension and irritation, he knew why Bull would be there but wasn’t necessarily happy about it.  
“Bull,” Khrys began almost surprised to see him in Skyhold. Bull could come and go as he pleased, he was a trusted member of Khrys’ inner circle and even after all these years he still had Ben-Hassrath contacts. Qunari spies were the best spies that Khrys had ever seen or used.

Bull looked her up and down; he was glad she was okay; the rumors he heard were a strong indicator of how close she came to being assassinated. “You okay, Boss?” he asked and she nodded.

She smiled warmly at the giant Qunari, for as big and fierce as he looked Bull was a softie. “They came close…but I’m fine.” She glanced at Fenris, who hadn’t left her side in days. He was a silent every present sentry glaring at everything. He let his guard down once and would never do it again.

“Too bloody close,” Cullen added, he looked much better than he had over the past few days. He finally slept and Birch had given him a new mixture of herbs to try, it seemed to be working better so he felt better. He was still just as irritable though but that had nothing to do with his pain.

“I’ve got some information you might want to hear,” Bull said getting to the point, “some Ben-Hassrath contacts that still talk to me say that the order came from Tevinter. Don’t know from who or why beyond ‘they want you dead’.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that passed between the four of them and Bull eyed them, they knew already. “Well, that tracks,” Khrys said with a sigh and finally met his eyes. “One of the guards was bought by Tevinter.”

“Thom must be spitting glass,” Bull commented knowing how serious Thom took his duty and the trust he had in his men. “Who?”

Cullen answered that, his expression mixed. No one was prepared for Thom’s star pupil to be a traitor. “Ross.”

The Qunari blinked, shocked. “Bullshit! Why?”

Khrys scoffed and huffed. “If you believe him…Tevinter men threatened to kill his family if he didn’t spy and let the assassin into the Keep.”

“I believe him,” Fenris said simply. Fenris had a better understanding of Tevinter cruelty than anyone else in Skyhold. He’d seen it before, to get what they wanted they were incredibly cruel, they kidnapped, they raped, they murdered, they tortured…somewhere Ross’ family was in grave danger if they weren’t dead already but his words fell on deaf ears to Khrys. She didn’t believe him.

Khrys half turned to him, her expression that of a sneer. “Well, I don’t,” she hissed, it wasn’t often they disagreed but when they did it was associated with something like this. Either she was merciful when she shouldn’t be or too harsh when she should be merciful.

Even Cole had felt the fear in the night watch Lieutenant, Fenris didn’t understand why Khrys didn’t believe him. “Thom asked you to show him mercy, Khrys, you should heed that,” he added his tone firm in his conviction and Bull studied Fenris for a moment.

Like Khrys, Cullen had the same belief. “He is a traitor and should be treated like any other,” Cullen stated and Bull got the feeling that this argument had gone in circles a few times. Traitors were executed in Skyhold, Inquisition traitors especially. Khrys took that personally and Bull didn’t blame her.

Michel agreed with Fenris. “Ross wouldn’t just betray the Inquisition.”

Khrys huffed. “Obviously he did, and he will pay for it.”

“There is more going on here, Khrys, don’t judge him so quickly.” Michel argued firmly, Fenris and Khrys disagreeing wasn’t usual though it happened on occasion but Michel and Khrys at odds was nearly unheard of.

Dorian looked at the ceiling in annoyance. _Here we go again._ “Could we not go into this again, please?” Dorian said silencing the debate; he’d heard it twice already. It was the first time in a long time anyone had heard Thom raise his voice at the Inquisitor. He wanted to find a rock to crawl under after listening to Ross’ reasoning. His countrymen were that cruel and he wasn’t proud of that.

“What does Tevinter hope to gain?” she asked, the question was directed at Bull.

Bull cackled slightly not sure if that was a serious question. “Your death, are you kidding? Destabilize Orlais, Gaspard loses his most powerful ally, Fereldan loses its neutral party between them and Orlais, Sebastian loses his religious figure and an ally. Like it or not, Boss, you’re at the center of it all.”

That only brought up another question, a big one. “Why? They’re already squabbling over Seheron in the north why pick a fight with Orlais and the Inquisition to the south?”

The Qunari shrugged. “Vints aren’t too bright, Boss,” Bull said plainly.

Dorian was mildly offended, Bull had called him worse. “Thanks for that,” he grouched and Bull almost smiled.

“Any evidence to the contrary?” Bull asked him and it felt like the old game again. Dorian’s returning smile was sardonic and conveyed one thing: Fuck you.

Khrys chuckled softly. “Boys, please,” she said and they silenced.

“If this is a grand scheme we need to know what it is,” Cullen chimed in helping to move this along. “We need more information to get to the bottom of this and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Dorian made a spur of the moment decision but it was the only one that came to mind. The only one that might get them what they need. “Then I will go to Tevinter,” Dorian said and Khrys blinked with surprise.

“What?” she questioned.

Dorian sighed; he had mixed feelings about returning home, a pool of sharks would be safer. “We need to find out who is behind this and stop them before they plunge western Thedas into war,” he reasoned and Khrys shook her head.

“Oh no you’re not,” she replied, did he really expect her to let him? Was he mad? “They just tried to kill me in _Skyhold_ imagine what could happen in Tevinter.”

Dorian shrugged with a smile. “I survived Tevinter my entire life, Khrys, I’ll be fine,” he told her trying and failing to reassure her.

She straightened, over her dead body was he going to Tevinter after what just took place. “You’re not going, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed again and allowed a half smile; she always tried to protect him, but he wasn’t going to let them hurt her again. “I have to Khrys, we’re a conniving bunch and the best place to find out who’s trying to sabotage the two greatest powers in Thedas is to go to the source.”

“He’s right, Boss, I’ll go with him,” Bull said and Dorian’s brow twisted as he glared at the Qunari. He neither wanted nor needed Bull to come along.

“I’ll be damned if you are,” he hissed in reply.

If she couldn’t talk Dorian out of it then she was going to allow it on her terms. Her love for Dorian was different than that for Michel and Solas but he was still the father of her child and her best friend. “No, Dorian, Bull’s right,” she interjected; Bull was the best option to send to protect Dorian. Michel was a Champion, he served for years as a bodyguard but she’d never send him to Tevinter. Fenris would have been her choice but sending him anywhere near the Imperium was still a dangerous idea…one that she never wanted to risk, “who better than a Qunari Merc as your bodyguard.”

Given their very strained relationship Dorian wasn’t so sure he wanted Bull guarding him. “Only if he guards it,” Dorian scoffed and Bull grumbled.

Bull sighed heavily in annoyance, Dorian always managed to annoy the fuck out of him. “What happened between us ended in Starkhaven.” The silence that followed that statement was awkward as Cullen and Fenris looked at each other both with a mixed awkward and embarrassed expression on their faces. Relationships were private and the whole world didn’t need to know when one ended badly between two people who still had to work together.

Dorian wasn’t sure how he felt about that reply, he could think of one person who would do better than Bull but getting Balian to him would have been nearly impossible. He relented, Khrys would never let him go alone and frankly he’d be a fool to go alone into the Magisterium when they knew he was Inquisition. “Fine.”


	16. Admission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ran away from me and morphed from it's original outline. Balian took it and ran, I decided to follow him instead of Dorian. I love Balian. He and Dorian are my favorite couple that I've written so far. I love Dorian anyway. :) This is definitely a filler chapter that focuses on some character development so I do hope you enjoy. I'm starting to split characters off to deal with concurrent problems. 
> 
> Because I'm a geek the songs I use for Dorian and Balian are Taking Over Me and My Last Breath by Evanesence. Told you...I'm a geek. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, feedback and comments are always welcome.

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Sixteen: Admission

 

Sebastian was an early riser but he hadn’t always been so. When he was growing up and learning how to use the bow he got up early, when he was sent to the Chantry, he got lazy. Princes weren’t mean for chastity so when he was taken to the cloister he rebelled, enjoyed the drink and the touch of countless women. Just when he started to embrace the Chantry life he left it to avenge his family. He was still a deeply religious man and went to the Chantry to pray every morning. The palace was always quiet this time in the morning as Sebastian made his way to the Chantry.

A cloth lying on the floor caught his eye and he bent down to collect it. The silky black and red scarf he knew well, it was Balian’s.

“Good morning, Highness.” Loomis, his palace guard Captain, greeted.

Sebastian nodded to the former soldier. He used to be in the army and was a good captain; his one downfall was his aversion to Balian. He didn’t like the Dalish and usually gave Balian a hard time but nothing more. “Loomis,” acknowledging his greeting, “where’s Balian?” he asked neatly folding the scarf in his hand.

Loomis had been warned outright by Sebastian to keep his opinion of his personal guard to himself no matter his feelings toward him. “Still in his bunk. He might have had too much to drink last night.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed, his body guard wasn’t a monk nor was he dull. He did drink but not all the time, once in a while he would have too much and then things got interesting. “Hopefully not too much.”

Loomis shook his head. “Nah, he’s pretty good about limiting himself now.” Balian wasn’t a mean drunk but his stoic, quiet veneer dropped after he had too much to drink and everything he let roll off his back when sober became personal when he was drunk. The first time people realized what happened when he drank too much was the last time. Balian started a fight that took Sebastian to break up and earned him the nickname Balian the Bear. Since then Balian limited his intake when he drank. “This came for him, marked as urgent; I was on my way there now.”

“I’ll take it,” Sebastian said and took the letter. Loomis didn’t mind, he didn’t care for being reduced a messenger.

 **

Balian was face down on in his bed under a mountain of furs; he didn’t hear anyone knock so when Sebastian finally entered the Elf remained asleep. Balian’s quarters were tastefully decorated, Starkhaven and Dalish appointments but it wasn’t exactly clean. He didn’t have company usually, clothes were strewn on the furniture but his armor was pristine and put away properly. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by the state of his quarters; he’d seen it before and in far worse condition. He saw the mass in the bed that was his bodyguard, all he could see was the top of his head and the rest was buried under his blankets and furs.

“Balian,” he announced waking him without getting too close to him. He’d learned that warriors needed to be awoken from a distance, especially warriors that still had vivid nightmares of being attacked by a bear. “Balian,” he said again his tone a little louder and the Elf stirred.

Balian heard the voice and immediately a curse went through his mind. Who was waking him up? There was a throb that reminded him of his hangover. “Balian.” he heard again and grunted. That was a familiar voice.

“What?” he answered groggily then turned his head toward the voice. His bleary eyes saw Sebastian but it didn’t register completely. He couldn’t decide if he was still drunk or totally hungover.

“Balian,” Sebastian said again sounding a little more annoyed now. “I have a letter for you…marked as urgent.”

Balian grumbled at the disturbance of his sleep. “They have you delivering messages now?” he grouched, he was belligerent hungover and half awake.

Sebastian cocked his head, they were informal with each other and he knew his bodyguard well enough to know this was the hangover talking. “It’s from Skyhold, you grouch,” he rebutted. Balian rolled over and sat up on the edge of his bed, he was naked under the blankets but kept himself covered. Sebastian cringed every time he saw the scars on his torso; the Elf was tougher than anyone he’d ever met. There was no way he could ever survive something like that. “And you dropped this in the hall.”

Balian took the letter and then the scarf with a grateful nod, he didn’t remember when he would have dropped it but he was lucky he didn’t lose it. “I apologize. Thank you.”

Sebastian waved him off and excused himself to let Balian be. Balian rubbed his eyes and examined the letter; it had Dorian’s seal on it. He read through it and felt his blood go cold. There was an assassination attempt on Khrys and now he was going to Tevinter to find the source. Balian got a terrifying sinking feeling. He didn’t like the thought of Dorian returning home…not without him to protect him.

 **

Balian’s headache still throbbed, he cursed himself for drinking too much the night before but had no way of knowing the letter that would arrive from Dorian, that letter prompted him to get into his full armor and seek out Sebastian. Normally he acknowledged the people who passed him in the keep, kitchen staff, maids, servants, but not this time which was unusual…those considered lower in the Palace loved him because he was polite to them. This time he was too focused on what he needed to say to Sebastian and prayed he didn’t lose his nerve.

“Can we talk, Highness?” he asked and Sebastian turned to face him with a curious expression.

He dismissed the advisor and beckoned Balian closer. There was something wrong; he could hear it in his voice. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“You’ve heard of the attempt on the Inquisitor?” he asked first and Sebastian nodded, he’d just been informed of that and sent a letter to Skyhold offering any support they needed. “According to spies the order came from Tevinter. Dorian departed for Tevinter to find out who and why. I have a bad feeling, Sire, I have to find him.” Balian paused a moment and looked down before mustering the courage to say the rest. “I’m resigning my post, Highness.”

Sebastian blinked, stunned by the last words. He’d never forced Balian to serve him, he volunteered, at first to repay a debt and then it was because of friendship. “What?” was all he could say even though he heard him loud and clear.

Balian didn’t want to leave his service, Sebastian was a good man and a good friend, he steeled his conviction…he had to find Dorian and protect him. “My attention is divided, I can’t serve you to the level I once did. I suggest Madrigal to take over my place as your bodyguard.”

“Is this about the tournament?” he asked and Balian had to admit that did play a part. He was bested by a Qunari mercenary in front of everyone, that loss still stung and he admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure if he could have beaten him in real combat anyway.

“That…that’s a part of it yes…Sebastian…please, accept my resignation,” he said trying not to make it sound like a beg.

“Bail, you don’t have to resign,” he said and stepped toward him. “I’ll give you leave to go to Tevinter.”

That would only be a temporary solution but the truth was Balian had made a decision, he chose Dorian over service to Sebastian. “I’m sorry, Highness, I’ve made my choice…,” he responded and drew his sword offering it to Sebastian. “Accept my resignation.”

Sebastian was stunned, he never thought he’d lose Balian and couldn’t bring himself to do what he was being asked. He looked at the sword but didn’t take it; the blade was made special for him, a simple and elegant weapon. “Keep it,” he said quietly. “It was a gift, from me to my closest friend.” Balian swallowed in response and returned the weapon to its sheath as Sebastian made this even more difficult by being the kind man that he respected. “Balian, you’ve saved every member of my family at one time or another, beat 15 challengers in my stead in single combat, and you rescued Meghan…your place is here…your home is here as a part of my family but if this is what you wish, I give you leave to go to Tevinter but I will not accept your resignation. Your post is available…any time you wish it, Brother.”

There were a lot of conflicting feelings Balian was having right now, Dorian had accused him of remaining with Sebastian because it was safe…he didn’t need to worry about making his own commitment to Dorian because he always had an excuse. He decided…enough excuses. That was as good a compromise as he was going to get out of him. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian stepped up to him and extended his hand to him, Balian clasped hands with him in a knight’s handshake. “Watch yourself out there.”

That was quite possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done, Sebastian was the best man he’d ever known, he gave him a home and a title, and now he was betraying that and leaving his service for love. He felt awful about it, almost bad enough to take back everything he just said but Dorian had grown to be the most important person in his life and he had to protect him. “If you ever need a champion you call. I’ll be there.” With that Balian left before he changed his mind leaving Sebastian still shocked that Balian, of all people, effectively resigned.

 **

Clearly word had spread, someone probably overheard the conversation and the rumor was born. People were whispering as he passed them, Sebastian’s loyal bodyguard, head of his personal security, Champion of Starkhaven was…leaving. It was shocking to the people in the palace. It was noon by the time Balian had packed up to leave and made it down to the stables. The stable girl, whom Balian had vouched for and helped employ, had Biscuit saddled and ready for him. The girl was 15 and living on the street when she stole Balian’s coin purse, he got it back and instead of throwing her into the dungeons as a thief he gave her a job. He thanked Linna and gave her a purse of coin and told her to see Madrigal in the Keep if she needed help with anything.

Biscuit was a nearly 17 hand Ranger gelding, not only was the warhorse fairly tall he was also built like a barn and Balian had selected him for his laid back, almost lazy disposition. In combat he was as ferocious as ever but Balian had picked the gelding because he listened, was brave, and wasn’t flighty. Biscuit was as solid a warhorse as they came. He was named Biscuit not because of his color but because he could eat a whole pan of biscuits and ask for more. It amused Balian.

The horse had a full set of armor but to take it meant that the warhorse would be weighed down so he only took the chanfron and the lighter breast collar. Biscuit was a big horse but full armor was hard on any horse no matter their size.

“You’re leaving?” a female voice questioned, though it sounded more like a statement, from behind him.

He didn’t need to look to know who it was but he turned and gave a respectful nod to the girl. “Lady Meghan,”

“Why are you leaving, Balian?” she demanded, she may have been only 14 but she had a commanding presence.

“Because someone I love is in danger, My Lady,” he replied and tied off the saddlebag.

Balian and Meghan had a bit of special bond; he rescued her, saved her life from people who wanted to hurt Sebastian by hurting his oldest daughter, he went all the way to Nevarra to get her and brought her home safe leaving a bloody path in his wake. “Are you coming back?”

Sebastian may have taught his daughter to use a bow extremely well but Balian taught her how to use a sword so she’d never be as helpless as she was when she was kidnapped. Sebastian was right; he was a part of the Vael family. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly with a sigh and then turned to face her. “But I’ll tell you the same thing I told your father, if you need me you call, and I’ll be here,” he said taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a bow before turning away and leading Biscuit out.

To find Dorian on the rode wasn’t going to be easy, he was actually going to be damn lucky but the date on the letter said that he couldn’t be too far into the journey. There was no quick way to get to Tevinter from Skyhold. They’d probably cross the Waking Sea at Jader to Cumberland and then take the Imperial Highway north to Minrathous. It was going to be a really long trip.

 **

The river boat journey took days, Balian was okay with travel by water but by the time he reached Galle, the Nevarran city that sat on the Minanter River and the Imperial Highway, he was sick of water. He’d done nothing but pace out of pure boredom while he worried about Biscuit being cooped up on a boat for so long. The gelding was even getting restless and he made a mental note to work him out before he got on, the horse was laid back but he was still a horse.

Galle was a bustling city, nowhere near the size of Cumberland and still half the size of Nevarra City, situated on the southern east bank of the Minanter River. Occupying the spot at the Imperial Highway’s crossing of the river made Galle a hub for trade and travelers. Balian always thought the city would be bigger given how much trade passed through it, he didn’t mind Nevarra and liked Galle. Galle reminded him of Starkhaven, the people were friendly and the city was vibrant.

He led Biscuit off the boat at the dock and made his way through the sea of people, despite being cooped up on the boat the warhorse was behaved and followed his master quietly. Balian was hard to miss; he was in his full armor, black cape and all, people parted for the Starkhaven knight and murmured but nothing more. His first stop was the stables, he needed to check the town first and see if he beat Dorian or missed him.

“Ser Balian.” The stableman greeted with a smile and bow.

Balian nodded at him, this wasn’t his first time to Galle, Sebastian passed through it on several occasions to get to Nevarra City and when he was tracking Meghan’s kidnapping. The people were kind to him, which was unusual. “Walter,” he greeted with a smile and shook the working man’s hand. “How’s business?”

“Better than ever, what brings you to Galle, Ser?” the older man asked. Walter was a big help to him when he was looking for Meghan and Balian had returned his help with a reward, business, and recognition from Sebastian.

“Passing through,” he answered as he surveyed the stables to see if there were horses or tack he recognized. “Anyone from the Inquisition passed through lately?”

Walter shook his head as he squinted in the sunlight to him. “No, Ser, not recently, last Inquisition banner I saw was several months back. Might try over at the Riverwalk if you’re looking for someone.” He told him and Balian nodded. He wanted to sleep in a bed that wasn’t moving, sloshing, or swaying so that was going to be a stop for him anyway.

He nodded and Biscuit stomped his foot with a snort. “Do you have a paddock I can use?” he asked and Walter nodded yes, even if he didn’t he’d find one. “He’s been on the river boat for almost a week; want to let him run around before I have to get on him.” He explained gesturing to Biscuit.

Walter chuckled and beckoned for the reins. “Yes, Ser, we’ll let him stretch his legs,” the older man said and took the reins leading the placid warhorse away. “Come on, Biscuit.”

Balian checked the General Goods store and the tavern but he got more of the same, no one had seen Inquisition agents or soldiers in months. He was starting to think that he actually beat him here despite leaving after Dorian had left Skyhold. It did occur to him that he might be in the wrong place but there were only so many direct routes to Tevinter. Going through Orlais made no sense and would take forever and a day; it was pointless to take a boat around the continent and would take three times as long, if not more. Cutting across Nevarra with the Imperial Highway was the most direct and meant that Dorian had to pass through Galle; it was the last good place to resupply and sleep in a nice bed before heading across the Silent Plains.

The Riverwalk was the only Inn, a big boarding house that had the air of sophistication. When he entered the place fell silent, not uncommon for and Elf walking in that wasn’t a servant of some sort. Balian’s presence was unmistakable; he wore his armor proudly displaying the Starkhaven colors and Sebastian’s crest and he carried himself well, proud and dangerous. He was used to dozens of pairs of eyes watching him when he entered a room so he ignored it and walk to the barmaid. She wasn’t the proprietor, just some girl who worked there, a pretty blonde human in her twenties.

“What can I do for you, Messier?” she asked, an odd name to call him in Nevarra.

“Room and food,” he replied and put the coin on the bar. “Fish and Egg pie if you’ve got it.” They probably didn’t but it was his favorite and her giggle told him that they didn’t.

“This isn’t Starkhaven, Messier, we’ve a good ram roast, potatoes, and carrots,” she told him and he thought that even she could hear his stomach growl.

“That’ll be perfect,” he smiled back. “Anyone from the Inquisition been through lately?” he asked her before she left to retrieve his dinner. Her expression told him something very simple; ‘information costs extra’ and he didn’t bother to negotiate as he put a sovereign on the bar.

“No, Messier, haven’t seen Inquisition in months,” she answered tucking the coin away.

“What about a man, bit taller than me, older, black hair, mustache, Tevinter accent, good looking, enough arrogance to make you want to strangle him, you seen him?” he asked and she took a moment putting the description together in her head with a laugh.

“No, Ser,” she answered after a moment and handed him a key. “Your room, upstairs last door on the right, I’ll bring your food up, water or wine?”

“Water, thank you,” he replied and headed toward the stairs, it appeared he beat Dorian here…at least he hoped his lover didn’t bypass the town, he’d be a fool if he did. Entering the desert of the Silent Plains without resupplying and resting was foolishness. Dorian would stop here and this would be where he’d spend the night. Balian silently eyed the room, respected Knight known even in Galle or not he was still an Elf and therefore was a target for hate. People didn’t care who he was, who he served, or what he’d done…to them he was still a Dalish Elf. He didn’t feel like fighting and thankfully no one offered to and he reached his room without a fuss.

The room was small, he wasn’t expecting his Starkhaven chambers but this room was more like a shoebox, at least it had a window that looked out over the street. He dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder and started to remove the armor one piece at a time until he was in comfortable trousers and a billowy white shirt.

A tap on the door drew his attention, he could smell the food and he opened the door to see the blonde girl with a tray and a jug of water. He also could have sworn she had more cleavage than she had earlier. He’d seen this before; there were barmaids and tavern wenches in Starkhaven who gave him the same view and same eye. He was a rarity, an Elf with a title, reputation, and position, and the prowess to back it all up. As such most women wanted to bed him.

“Will you require anything else, Ser?” she asked as he set the tray down on the small table that was barely big enough for the plate.

He shook his head and regarded her politely. “I notice you’re calling me ‘ser’ now.”

She nodded with a smirk. “Yes, Ser, I know who you are, Ser Balian of Starkhaven. If you’re in need of companionship, Ser, you may call upon me.”

Balian nearly choked on the water he was sucking down but he cleared his throat and look down at the girl. “Pardon?”

“I’ve never had an Elf before, much less a knighted Elf,” she said her tone was casual but also shy and honestly, a bit refreshing. If it hadn’t been for Dorian he might even have taken the offer.

He blushed a bit at her forward approach. “Umm…I’m flattered, Lady, but not interested.”

 **

It took a few days for Dorian’s queasiness to pass; he hated to travel by ship so the journey across the Waking Sea was absolutely miserable. He was queasy even for a good period after they landed in Cumberland. Bull laughed at him and teased him but there was no bantering between them. They moved quickly up the Imperial Highway toward Galle and the river crossing.

Bull was a magnificent deterrent for bandits and shady fellows; no one wanted to face the enormous Qunari no matter how hard up for coin they were. There was no chatter between them beyond the normal talk that was necessary. Dorian was almost awkward; he didn’t know what to say to him, or how to talk to him after Starkhaven. They were making good time despite the awkwardness.

They had to stop in Galle, the topography of the lush and green province was changing the further north they went, and soon they’d reach the desert of the Silent Plains that bordered, and even crossed into, Tevinter. Galle was the last good place to resupply before embarking across the desert. Dorian wanted a bath and a bed that didn’t consist of rocks.

Balian could hear the scuffle inside the tavern, there must have been a massive barroom brawl going on from the sound of it. When he entered he could hear people cheering the fight and blinked, freezing in his tracks at who he saw fighting. The enormous Qunari couldn’t be missed even by a blind man, it wasn’t the whole tavern fighting, it was just The Iron Bull against four men…that fit, that’s why it sounded like a herd of Druffalo on a rampage. Of all the places he would find the fucking Iron Bull. _Here_ in Galle. But why?

He groaned. He had no wish to see the man again or face him again in combat; he beat him in single combat, the defeat still stung. Bull was holding his own in the fist fight and Balian eyed the room, it did occur to him that Bull was a part of the Inquisition it was possible that Dorian was nearby. Scanning the tavern his eyes found him, leaning against the bar watching. Dorian. The Tevinter man had a presence, a condescending and arrogant presence but it was one that was unique to him. He shook his head as he approached him from behind, Dorian really needed to learn to never have his back to the door.

“Hi,” he greeted softly into the mage’s right ear. Dorian jumped at the sudden presence so close to him and looked over his shoulder looking like he was ready to fight until he realized who it was and his expression switched to shock.

“Balian!” he exclaimed truly shocked to see his lover in Galle. “What are you doing here?” he asked as Balian took up position opposite him so he could watch the door.  
“I got your letter,” he replied as Dorian waved for the barmaid to pour him a tankard of wine.

Dorian wanted nothing more than to kiss him and find a private room but the middle of the Tavern was not the place for that. It amused him that Balian was ignoring Bull’s brawl as he contemplated trying to break it up before it spilled out into something bigger. “So this is what it takes to get you out of Starkhaven?” he questioned though it was more of personal jab than a question.

Balian scowled at him and didn’t answer, the last person he wanted to fight with was Dorian so instead he turned his attention to the fight and took a drink of the wine that was served to him. “What’s that about?” he asked changing the subject from something that would start a fight to an actual fight.

Dorian eyed his scarred lover and allowed him to change the subject. “Bull is defending the Chargers.” He said plainly.

Balian looked at the fight, it was tipped in Bull’s favor and he had two of them holding bloody noses and broken arms and was beating the third to a bloody mess without killing him, a fair fight, and a barroom brawl until the fourth drew a blade. Balian got to him before Dorian knew he left. He had his sword drawn and at the mercenary’s throat before he could advance on Bull’s back.

“I would advise against that,” he warned as the man came to a precarious halt with the sword now at his throat. He glared at Balian and turned his ire on the new challenge.

“Piss off you fucking knife-ear,” he spat, Balian had been called worse by better men than this and his expression remained that of a stern warning though Dorian knew he was brimming with anger. He hated being called that.

“Call me ‘knife-ear’ again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” he warned and his tone reflected one thing: it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.

“Bearkiller!” Bull bellowed in a jovial tone, a drunken, happy, jovial tone like he wasn’t embroiled in a fight at all. “What an unpleasant surprise.” he laughed.

Balian rolled his eyes and spared the Qunari a quick glower. “Call me that again and I’ll let him kill you.”

“Are you ladies done?” the mercenary at the mercy of Balian’s sharp silverite sword asked. Balian took the sword away from his throat and stepped forward punching the mercenary hard enough to knock him out.

“Are you done fucking with them?” Balian hissed to Bull, his mood soured with his presence.

Bull chuckled, the Elf who appeared to be still grouchy from the defeat suffered in Starkhaven, he clearly had no patience for him now. He head-butted the remaining merc and he fell to the floor in a pained groan, the fight was over. “Care for another try, Bearkiller?”

Balian glared at him, his sword lowered but guarded. “Fuck you,” he replied with a snap and gestured for Dorian to come with him. “Come on; best leave before we attract more attention.”

 **

The Inn was a bit tamer in its company and food was brought for the three men occupying a corner table. Bull practically inhaled the stew which was a stark contrast to Dorian’s polite manner.

“How long have you been here?” Dorian asked as the blonde barmaid winked at the Elf with a blatant blush. She hadn’t made any advances past the first day he’d arrived but she kept flirting with him.

“Four days,” Balian replied between mouthfuls. He had table manners but it seemed to be a trait among anyone named a ‘warrior’ to eat like it was their last meal.

“Four days? You didn’t waste much time after receiving my letter,” Dorian commented. “I’d have sent a letter like that sooner if I knew it would get you out of Starkhaven.”

Dorian regretted the words as soon as he said them but Balian simply looked up at him saying nothing but his eyes gave a silent warning. Not the time or the place to argue about this. “Where are your guards?” he asked changing the subject and Dorian shook his head.

“I didn’t bring any,” he answered and Balian’s brow furrowed deeply.

He paused from eating and blinked a few times. “Khrys let _you_ leave Skyhold days after an assassination attempt without a retinue of guards?” he questioned and couldn’t help but sound totally surprised. “And why is he with you?” he asked gesturing to Bull.

“Didn’t have a choice,” he replied and Bull gave him a look that Dorian ignored. “I told Khrys I was going to Tevinter and the big lug volunteered.”

“Why no guards?” he asked again, Khrys cared deeply for Dorian…it didn’t make sense that she would let him leave without adequate protection.

“Because I don’t want to attract attention…it’ll be hard enough with him but I can’t go into Tevinter to discover a plot to assassinate the Inquisitor with an army of Inquisition guards at my back.” Dorian explained and Balian could understand that. Dorian’s letter left out the details about exactly what happened but he did mention that the assassin was from Tevinter.

It was smart thinking but Balian couldn’t help but think that it was futile, Dorian going back to Tevinter could only be viewed in one light after such an attempt on Khrys. If it was ordered by Tevinter they’d know why he was there, guards or not. This was going to be dangerous, extremely dangerous.

 **

Balian was up earlier than Dorian was even moving about in the creaky bed and floor didn’t wake the mage and Balian didn’t have a mind to. He was evidently exhausted after spending nearly two weeks on the road and they still had a long way to go to reach Minrathous.

Most knights used squires to help with armor but Balian hated the feeling of someone else dressing him. He could get in and out of his own armor, sometimes it did prove difficult but he managed without the trial of squires. He gazed at the mark of Starkhaven upon the greatshield that leaned against the wall. He was still troubled, conflicted about leaving his post and everything he owned reminded him of it. If he’d had anything that equaled the comfort and quality of his armor he would have left anything bearing its seal in Starkhaven, but he also couldn’t bring himself to get rid of any of it. It was a part of who he was no matter what. He was so lost in thought staring at the shield he didn’t hear Dorian moving around behind him. If he said anything to him he missed it.

Dorian had said something to him and when he didn’t respond his brow furrowed. “Bail?” he questioned, wondering why his simple ‘good morning’ went unacknowledged.

The nickname hit him and he half turned to face him. “What?”

Dorian cocked his head as he started to pull on his own clothing. The light battlemage robes were easier to get into than Balian’s heavy armor but had about a thousand buckles. “I said good morning,” he said in a tone of weary amusement.

He had to pull himself together and deal with Starkhaven later. “I’m sorry. Good morning.” Dorian’s brow remained furrowed as Balian turned away to finish with his armor.

“It wasn’t my choice to bring him,” Dorian said and that made Balian turn completely to face him. “Bull. Khrys wouldn’t let me go without a guard. You were my first choice but he volunteered and Khrys let me go with just him,” He felt the need to explain the Qunari’s presence to him thinking Balian’s quiet behavior the result of his lover’s former lover’s presence as a bodyguard.

Balian realized that his troubled mind was translating the wrong way to Dorian. “I know. Bull’s a good choice, he knows Tevinter, and he will protect you,” he said fastening his left bracer.

Dorian scoffed loudly as he situated his boots before standing. “I don’t know about that,” he said and Balian allowed a half smile.

His chuckle lightened the mood. “You’re not an easy man to let go of, Dorian, or resist…he’ll protect you.”

Dorian blushed. “But I don’t need him now,” he said with a smile, the look on his face and his smile directed to Balian. “I have the Champion of Starkhaven.” Dorian’s beaming pride unintentionally rubbed salt in the wound but Balian managed a smile that Dorian didn’t quite believe.

He stood as Balian turned from him and laid the black cape out, the last piece of his full armor, he really didn’t need to wear it and he’d probably shed it as soon as the desert sun got too hot. Dorian pinned the black cape in place on Balian’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“So the Starkhaven Prince gave you leave to come find me?” he questioned but his tone was more amused and flattered than anything else.

Balian shrugged as the memory of asking to resign dredged up unpleasant, conflicting feelings for him. Sebastian called him a brother and a part of his family. “Something like that?” he answered vaguely.

Balian’s behavior was a mystery, he was always a quiet man but this was unusual even for him, something was bothering him. “Are you alright, Amatus?” Dorian asked.

He didn’t tell him about Sebastian, part of him was ashamed for leaving him. He swore an oath to him and he’d resigned. He couldn’t face it now. “I’m fine,” he answered and appreciated Dorian’s concern.

Dorian didn’t believe him but knew he had to tread lightly in pushing him to talk. When something was on his mind it was hard to force it out of him without making him angry. “You don’t look fine. What’s wrong?”

Balian pushed the thoughts into the room in the back of his mind and turned to Dorian. “Nothing,” he said sounding more convincing this time and kissed him lovingly. “Let’s go.”

Dorian sensed something wasn’t right, something had happened and it changed Balian, and not necessarily for the better. He sighed heavily and tabled it for later and helped collect the belongings as Balian collected the great kite shield.

 **

Elf or not, Balian’s presence in full armor was felt throughout Galle and people swiftly moved out of his way as he, Bull, and Dorian made their way to the stables. Apparently, Balian had been to Galle more than Dorian had realized and was surprised at the amount of respect the man earned.

“The horses are all ready for you, Ser,” Walter said to Balian. “I packed extra provisions for them, several extra skins of water each. There’s water in the Silent Plains, Ser, you just have to know where to look for it, here’s a map of the wells and streams.”

Balian gave the man and thankful smile and shook his hand. “Thank you, Walter,” he nodded.

“Maker be with you, Ser.” Balian didn’t believe in the Maker or Andraste he stuck to the Elven beliefs but took the blessing for what it was and gave the man an appreciative nod.

“That man seems to respect you a great deal, Bail, didn’t know you come to Galle that much,” Dorian commented as they tended to the horses preparing to leave.

Balian checked the saddle and armor that adorned his warhorse. The silverite armor was light and basic, the chanfron sporting an eight inch spike ripe for skewering those in the way once his head was down. “I don’t. I earned his respect,” he answered satisfied that everything was in its place he led the horse from the stables.

“How?” Bull asked and received a glower from Dorian.

“I killed the men who raped his daughters,” he answered simply, most of the townsfolk hailed him as a hero but he still had the stigma of being an Elf so Galle had mixed feelings about him. Tracking Meghan revealed something else in Galle, a group of men preying on young girls. Balian killed them all when he learned of their deeds much like he did those who had taken Meghan captive.

 **

Of all the deserts that Dorian had grown up in or trudged across The Silent Plains wasn’t too terrible, yes it was hot and dusty but he had seen worse. The Hissing Wastes for example was far worse than here, so hot that the best time to move around was at night or else fry in the heat. The sand was fine and grey almost like ash, a lingering reminder of the First Blight.

Bull’s horse was truly massive, Asaarash were the horses used by the Antaam, massive horses that put the beasts of southern Thedas to shame. So seeing the Qunari on horseback was a frightening sight, they towered over everything, and this flea bitten grey mare was an imposing mount.

“So, Bearkiller, I have a question,” Bull began and Dorian rolled his eyes, for three days so far he’d endured listening to these two snap at and antagonize each other.

Balian was riding in the lead, he’d shed his cloak and had a hood up over his head to shield it from the unforgiving sun. He rolled his eyes to the annoyance of being called Bearkiller again and to the annoyance of Bull period. “What,” he growled back.

“The bear you killed…I’ve heard conflicting stories, was it a Great Bear like most people say?” the Qunari asked and Dorian thought of decking him for asking such a stupid, menial question. Balian’s temper had been short since they left Galle and part of that could be contributed to Bull’s presence but Dorian felt that it was something more, he just wasn’t sure what.

Balian actually laughed, not a happy laugh though more like one born of irritation, irritation and amusement to the ignorance of people. “If it were a Great Bear I would most certainly be dead,” he answered. “It was just a bear and I was stupid enough to be caught in the open to face it alone.”

“But you won. A great victory over a beast that would happily crack you open and devour what’s inside.” Bull praised and Balian said nothing. “Not many would have the balls to face down such a beast alone and even less to actually kill it and live.”

“I almost didn’t,” he replied. “I nearly bled to death and contracted fever from infection. If you wish to have glory, Iron Bull, there are easier ways to achieve it then facing down one of man’s greatest predator alone.”

“Here, here,” Bull laughed back agreeing with the Elf. “But you should try High Dragon, Bearkiller-…”

Balian pivoted Biscuit roughly, earning a grunt from the gelding as he responded to his angered master’s command. “My name is Balian!” he barked, he was tired of being called Bearkiller or Balian the Bear by him. “Not Bearkiller, not Balian the Bear, not Mi’Harellan. _Balian_. Start using it or I’ll finish what began in Starkhaven.”

Bull regarded the currently short tempered knight carefully, he believed that he would fight him and this time he might actually win. “Alright,” he nodded. “My apologies…Balian.”

Balian gave a gentler command to turn Biscuit back around to continue down the road and patted his neck gently, an apology for yanking on his mouth. Bull continued the conversation like his outburst had never happened. “You remember that Frostback don’t you, Dorian, the one that hit you with its tail right before my axe cleaved its eye?”

Dorian did remember, he broke several ribs that day and was lucky the dragon didn’t hit him with all her force or it would have been much worse. “Oh, yes, unfortunately I remember them all…I spent far too much time participating in dragon slaying while following Khrys around Thedas.”

“Ha!” Bull laughed. “You got pretty good at it though. The Ravager, the one we found sleeping in its den…you killed her almost single handedly. You made it look easy.”

Dorian snorted, his memory was somewhat different. It was a tall task to kill a fire dragon _with_ fire but he managed to do it with supplemented lightening and any other discipline he knew of powerful enough to get the job done and only Cole as back up. He’d employed magical techniques he hadn’t used since he was young and inexperienced and experimenting. Everything hurt or felt weird by the time he was done cracking the arcane whip. A fight born out of necessity, they bit off way more than they could chew when they woke the Ravager and she was so enraged by the time the fight as over his mana was completely gone. “I make everything look easy,” he replied with a grin, he did boast about it, he was proud of it, but right now he just wanted to get out of the sun and have a cool drink.

Balian glanced over his shoulder to Dorian thinking he’d be seeing the two of them flirting. They weren’t they were riding single file still. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous; Bull and Dorian had known each other longer, had been lovers, and had all the stories to tell. He put to from his mind; he had no need to be jealous. He had Dorian now…not Bull.

 **

That night’s camp saw a bit more conversation than the prior nights. Bull watched the camp and the horses as Dorian and Balian fetched water from a nearby stream that hadn’t been baked underground. It was a small oasis but it would do. Balian could see a beast lurking in the distance though he wasn’t sure what it was, it seemed content to stay away but the meat the thing could provide would be much better than the miniscule hare’s they’d been able to trap. Balian grumbled, he was never much of a hunter and was terrible with a bow. “My kingdom for a fucking archer,” he bitched and Dorian chuckled.

“Let’s not provoke the desert, Amatus, we have plenty of rabbit,” Dorian said and Balian could hear the terrible puns that Bull would be making about rabbit ears and elves. Thankfully, they’d left the great beast at the fire.

Dorian studied him, something was still on his mind and it was translating to his behavior. He had to be sweltering under all that armor and chainmail but he hadn’t complained yet. Dorian loved the heat, though he admitted the burning sun of the Silent Plains was not his first choice to relieve himself of the perpetually cold Skyhold.

Balian dropped the empty water skins and knelt to begin filling them trying to ignore the fact that Dorian was studying him like a book. “Bail, what’s bothering you?” he asked bluntly and the Elf paused before tying off the skin of water and filling another.

 _Fuck me, here we go_. “Nothing,” he responded flatly and Dorian sighed clearly annoyed.

“Balian, please stop lying to me.”

He still didn’t want to talk about it, not now, he’d come apart…in either direction. “I’m fine, Dorian,” he said and the mage was growing annoyed with his stubbornness.

“No, you are not, talk to me.”

Balian growled like the bear everyone likened him too. “I’m fine, Dorian, so stop fucking pushing!” He barked louder letting his temper get the better of him, he regretted it immediately but he couldn’t really undo it.

Dorian gave him a puzzled but angry look. “Don’t talk to me like that, you surly bastard, what’s gotten into you?” Balian was silent at the rightful scolding from Dorian and he took the silence as more irritation. “Fine. You don’t want to talk, have it your way.”

Before Balian could respond with anything resembling an apology the mage was gone, he cursed himself…he needed to get a handle on himself, his mood was only alienating the one he loved.

 **

The walk back was awkward in the silence, Balian moved with purpose still cursing himself for raising his voice to Dorian. Their relationship wasn’t without its arguments but this time snapping at Dorian was unworthy of him.

“Well it’s about time,” Bull grumbled as he stirred the small pot of stew. “You two lovers have a nice stroll?”

Balian had moved away from Dorian dropping the skins but locked eyes with Dorian’s, Balian looked away first ashamed of his outburst. “A delightful stroll in the moonlight,” Dorian said and Bull didn’t buy it. He’d heard Balian’s raised voice but couldn’t hear the argument itself.

“Uh huh,” he grunted in reply.

“You cooked?” Balian questioned.

“Maker save us all,” Dorian snorted and Bull glowered.

“Don’t want it, go fucking hungry,” he said and Dorian chuckled. The Qunari could cook…it was a little basic but edible. Khrys was the one who did most of the cooking while travelling Thedas and Thom was a surprisingly good fire cook.

 **

Dorian had retired first leaving Balian and Bull sitting in silence by the fire. Bull observed him, he was a quiet man and he appreciated that. He meant what he said in Skyhold, whatever there had been with Dorian was over now. A much as he tried to say their relationship wasn’t his business he couldn’t help it. He cared for Dorian and the raised voice concerned him. The elf tossed a twig into the fire and stared at it, he hadn’t said anything for over an hour.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bull asked and Balian snapped out of his trance.

“What?”

“The bug up your ass that’s starting to fester, what’s the problem?” he asked bluntly. “I heard the raised voice. What’s your problem?”

Balian’s brow furrowed as he leveled a glare at the Qunari. “Precisely why would I tell you a fucking thing if I won’t even talk to him about it?” he asked, his tone quiet but there was an unmistakable growl behind it.

“Because if whatever bug is up your ass hurts him on this little endeavor I’ll kill you this time,” he said leveling a glare of his own at the Elf. Balian was nearly offended but understood that his mood was seen by all those present, they knew something was on his mind, he’d never hurt Dorian…not intentionally.

He acknowledged Bull’s threat but had nothing to say in return, he had to keep himself together or talk to someone about the shame he felt for leaving Sebastian’s service, so he stood and wandered off to check the horses.

So far there had been no bandits or highwaymen just beasts seen from a distance who were content to keep it that way but the camp was watched nightly, Balian kept watch for the first part of the night then was relieved by Bull. He checked the horses and kept the fire low, anyone could see the fire in this wasteland but he tried to minimize the detection with a lower fire. Biscuit was the only one of the three that was laying down, the black mare of Dorian’s rested between asleep on her feet while Asaarash looked like a fierce guardian.

Bull relieved him without a single word and he retired to Dorian although he felt that he shouldn’t. Dorian was awake when Balian settled next to him after getting out of the majority of his armor, the mage remained silent. “I’m sorry, Dorian.”

Dorian took a moment to respond as Balian stretched out flat. His relationship with Balian was never without some friction…that was the type of man he was. He was set in his ways and aspired to the Emerald Knights of his ancestors; he had more sense of honor than anyone Dorian had ever met. He had manners and a sense of propriety which gained him high praise in Starkhaven. That aside he was also growly and had an aggressive streak that was hard to contain when struck with the right match. Dorian was very good at finding that aggression. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

There was a pause as Balian thought a moment. “Not yet,” he replied quietly and he could hear Dorian sigh. “Just know it’s not you and it’s not him.”

Dorian quickly narrowed the list; that left Sebastian, the only other person that could have him in this much of an uproar. “Well, if it’s not me and it’s not Bull that leaves the Prince. Is he angry with you for coming here?”

“Dorian.” The Elf warned and he heard a huff this time.

“And people call me stubborn,” he muttered effectively giving up for the night. He didn’t want to fight with him but he sensed this was about his duty to Sebastian.

 **

Bull had everyone up just before the sun came up, it got hot quickly and he wanted to move as far as they could before it got too hot. They were making incredible time across the wasteland but they took care to not wear out the horses, once they were done with the Silent Plains they had Tevinter itself, another damn desert.

Balian had to admit he was broiling under the silverite armor and all the layer of chainmail but he didn’t want to risk being without it, he had no way to carry it so he wore it. The highway was the long standing tribute to the Imperium and its architecture, for as old as the highway was the vast majority of it still stood, but there were crumbled sections that forced a detour. The Knight took them off the road and down what was once probably a riverbed, massive stone blocks were half buried in sand from where the highway had collapsed above.

Biscuit snorted and began to prance, all the horses were uneasy. The warhorse stilled at a calming word from Balian but he was still uneasy. “Easy,” he cooed gently but kept his eyes on his surroundings, the terrain had become hilly and rocky providing good places for men and creatures to hide.

“Careful, something’s out there,” Bull warned.

Balian didn’t respond but he did hear him, he kept his eyes on the hills, mainly the enormous blocks of stone. Something was wrong, a threatening shadow somewhere near and he drew his sword. He edged Biscuit forward; the gelding’s lazy plod had evaporated into an alertness that would rival even the highest strung horse. As he moved forward he finally saw it. “Wyvern!” he bellowed as the thing leapt for him, a juvenile Wyvern the same color as the dusty grey sand. It leapt at he and Biscuit from the right and he spurred the gelding forward then wheeled him to the left as the beast crashed into the sand where its prey had been.

He heard Bull yell there was another and saw Dorian unleash a blast of fire at the Wyvern attacking him but he focused on the one roaring in front of him. He backed Biscuit slowly, eyeing it carefully as it stalked toward him. It occurred to him that he didn’t want to be mounted at this time, the Wyvern could rip his horse to shreds and he didn’t want that.

It leapt at him again and he spurred the warhorse at an angle still running from the creature until he figured out how to kill this thing. It roared angrily at him and spun toward him, Balian was off Biscuit in a flash swatting him away then turned to face the young Wyvern. It came at him, the size of his warhorse and ten times as unfriendly. He’d never faced a Wyvern before but they were like any other mindless predator, they attacked on instinct. He sidestepped to the right from its charge and sliced the creature’s left side; it squealed and hobbled as Balian carefully prepared for another attack.

If it were possible the Wyvern roared even angrier than before and charged and Balian readied his shield. The silverite greatshield could withstand pretty much anything but he’d never tested that against a fucking Wyvern. The beast leapt at him he raised the shield dropping to one knee, he felt the creature hit and he immediately flashed back to the nightmare with that mother bear but this time his shield held. He stabbed into its left shoulder and it recoiled from him. Balian bashed it in the face serving to anger it further. It spat venom but it splattered on the shield and attacked again. He blocked the powerful swipe and kept moving. It lashed out with its tail and swept Balian’s feet from under him, he hit the ground hard on his back with a grunt as he briefly saw stars and in that moment realized that his helm was tied to Biscuit. He only wore the cowl. He cursed himself and had a mere second to block the Wyvern that snapped at his face while he was on his back. He strained to hold back the beast as its front claws scraped and screeched on the metal, he prided himself being stronger than people gave him credit for. The creature wasn’t smart enough to back off and swat the shield from him; he thanked the Creators for that. It put its full weight on the shield and Balian felt like he was being crushed, it was like Biscuit laying on him, he couldn’t get enough swing for his sword to do much good so he abandoned it tohelp hold the Wyvern at bay. He growled out the strain and it sounded more like a roar, trying to muster all his strength to save his own life.

Balian heard the thunderous crack and felt the white hot bolt of lightning hit the beast trying to claw its way through the shield, under his armor every hair stood on end and he felt his skin tingle, it hit the Wyvern knocking it to the left. The Elf was on his feet before he thought about it, the lightening not only hit the Wyvern but himself too and he shook the odd feeling off.

The injured beast charged him defiantly and slashed furiously for him, he blocked several deadly strikes and found his opening, the Wyvern roared and the knight thrust his silverite longsword into the back of its throat. It squealed in agony fell to the ground flailing. Balian’s final strike ended the fight, a single true strike on the back of its neck that severed its spine.

He leaned forward hands on his thighs breathing heavily from the exertion. “What is it with me and fucking beasts?” he muttered out loud but the only one who heard him was probably Biscuit. The gelding was spooked and shying and snorting at everything.

“Are you alright?” he heard Dorian’s worried voice called as he cantered toward him briefly before pulling up.

“Yeah…” he replied in a clipped, tired response between breaths then straightened his back, “just a Wyvern, no big deal.”

Bull laughed heartily. “Balian the Wyvern Killer…I really like him now,” he said ignoring the brief glare.

Dorian dismounted and stepped to him to see if he was okay. It scared him to see the Wyvern crushing him, hence the powerful lightning bolt. Balian reassured him with a single smile, he wasn’t hurt, at least not that he felt, though he felt the energy drain from him as the adrenalin dissipated. He appreciated Dorian’s aid, without it that Wyvern would have crushed him. “Thank you,” he said sincerely putting his right hand on the mage’s cheek.

Dorian smiled, his love was in there, under the bad mood he’d been in lately. “You would be of decidedly less use to me as a Wyvern’s meal, Amatus,” he said and Balian chuckled and patted Dorian’s shoulder as he moved off to collect his spooked horse.

 **

The other Wyvern had been dealt with quickly; Bull had killed many in the Exalted Plains with Solas and Khrys. Dorian hit it with fire and Bull cleaved its head in with a well-placed axe. They resumed travel for a few more hours, Balian walked trying to stay as limber as possible knowing that once he stopped he’d feel like hell but he walked to calm Biscuit.

They set camp near a well that was about an hour off the highway. Balian sat by the fire assessing his shield, there were scratches but no deep gouges, he wasn’t necessarily pleased with the damage but it was better than what it could have been. He grumbled to the damage though but set it aside to tend his sword.

“You are truly one mad bastard,” Bull said obviously referring to Balian. “You stood against that Wyvern’s jump; on foot…I like you more and more each day.”

Balian chuckled slightly, it wasn’t the smartest thing he could have done but he prevailed. When the Wyvern hit he felt like Biscuit had tried to run him over, the gelding had in the past so he had a base to compare it to. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You’re brave, I’ll give you that,” Bull replied.

“Fool, more like,” Dorian muttered once again voicing his disapproval with what had happened as he pulled the three rabbits roasting over the fire.

“I didn’t tell the Wyvern to attack,” Balian replied it was matter of fact not an angry comment.

“One only has so much luck against beasts,” Dorian said with a genuine concerned tone and handed him a skewered rabbit then one to Bull.

Balian couldn’t argue with that, beasts liked to attack him, one of these days that luck would not hold. His mother called the bear attack a blessing from Dirthamen, granted him the strength to stand against them, he felt it made him a target…they liked to attack him, he was certain of that. Balian’s silence gave Bull an opening to talk. “He does like to mother doesn’t he?”

Dorian glowered a warning at Bull and Balian chuckled softly, he didn’t mind the mothering, Dorian cared enough to do it. “I don’t mind,” he winked at Dorian as he began to eat the small rabbit. If nothing else the Silent Plains had an abundant supply of hares, easy enough to catch with a well-placed clap of a lightning bolt, Dorian had killed quite a few when they found a nest.

“Do his feet still freeze as soon as he gets into bed?” Bull asked and Dorian gave him a look that could have killed him on the spot.

To Dorian’s surprise Balian chuckled and nodded. “Sylaise, yes…his feet could be sitting in the fire, as soon as he gets into bed they freeze.”

Dorian glowered. “Oh terrific,” he muttered, annoyed and mortified, “you’re bonding.”

Balian laughed at the groan ignoring the glower. “Well your feet do freeze when you get into bed.”

“Wonderful, I shall wear socks from now on,” he hissed, he almost preferred them a hairs breath from killing each other to bonding over the one thing they had in common: him.  
Bull ignored Dorian’s annoyance with a smirk, Dorian wouldn’t take with a prude or someone who didn’t have a decent sense of humor so somewhere under the Elf’s grouchiness was someone he’d probably get alone with. “Does he still spend half the morning fussing over his hair?” he went on.

Dorian sat down to Balian’s left and glared past the amused Elf toward Bull, again another look that could have killed him, then redirected the glare to his lover when he answered with a laugh. “He fusses over more than just his hair,” he replied. “Take’s him hours to get ready for the day.”

“I do not,” he spat in his defense, the boys were not being mean, just bonding…didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Not out here…you don’t have a choice,” Bull commented and he glowered again. Balian’s half smile lightened his mood though. He was enjoying himself and whatever was weighing on his was gone…at least for the moment.

“Well, forgive me if I don’t wish to stink like the unwashed masses,” he rebutted and the half smile of Balian’s was still there. “You sing in the tub…and not well I might add,” Balian tinged pink as Bull chuckled.

“I thought all Elves had voices from the heavens?” Bull questioned sounding amused by how the conversation was turning.

Dorian scoffed as Balian simply let the detail come out. “Not this one,” Dorian said relishing the turned tables. “What he ‘sings’ in the tub could barely be comprehended as song.”  
Bull laughed and Dorian turned his attention to him.

“And don’t even get me started on you, he who snores so loud you literally woke Skyhold.” Balian laughed and nearly choked on his food. “At least he sleeps like a rock, no snoring…and he doesn’t push me out of bed.” Balian laughed again, he didn’t move once he fell asleep, Dorian tended to toss and turn but to his knowledge he’d never pushed Dorian out of bed. He pictured it; the image was a little unsettling. Dorian with the brute but its humor outweighed it. “What are you laughing about?” Dorian questioned now amused himself. “You may not have pushed me off the bed but if you did I’d have a soft landing with all your clothes strewn across the floor.”

Balian commended the mage on turning the tables on them; they were dragging his idiosyncrasies to light so he did the same to them. It was all in good fun if not mortifying to Dorian.

 **

Balian was sore but he never actually took an injury thanks to his reflexes and armor. The back of his head hurt from where his head hit the sand and he was a little sore all over but it would pass. He was lucky the Wyvern wasn’t overly bright or else it could have killed him a few times.

Dorian ran his hand over where Balian said his back was sore and found no injuries, just jostled bones and muscles. “I don’t see any injuries. Sorry about the lightening singeing you a bit.”

Balian shrugged enjoying Dorian’s hands rubbing his shoulders. “Alternative was far worse,” he chuckled softly. “Though I didn’t stop tingling until an hour ago.” There were a few moments of silence between them as Dorian laughed quietly. “I resigned,” he admitted after a long few minutes then corrected himself given the fact Sebastian refused to accept it. “Well, sort of…but I no longer serve Sebastian.”

“You what?” Dorian asked in shock and quickly understood what had him in such an awful mood as of late.

As soon as he said it he felt better, kind of, he still felt like he betrayed Sebastian and that feeling was not going away any time soon. “He didn’t accept my resignation but…I gave my post to Madrigal.”

Dorian blinked again, never in his right mind would he have thought Balian would ever leave Sebastian…it was like getting Cullen to leave the Inquisitor or even for him to leave the Inquisitor. For as long as they had been together Balian never entertained the thought of leaving Sebastian’s service. Their bond was as close as Dorian’s was with Khrys, without the child of course. “Why would you do that?” he asked still in shock then furrowed his brow at why he would even ask that question. As many times as he’d asked and almost begged Balian to do exactly this why would he question him about it now?

“Because I figured out where I want to be,” he answered simply and shifted to face him. “I have to be with you, Dorian.”

Balian grunted as Dorian pounced on him, his head hit the bedroll and he groan at how tender it still was but he forgot that quickly. He chuckled to Dorian’s enthusiasm as he kissed him, as conflicted as he felt about giving up his post; Dorian made it all worth it.

 **

Tevinter had an ongoing conflict with Nevarra that seemed to have cooled some in recent years as they were more concerned with the Inquisition than the Qunari to the north. That didn’t mean the borders were unguarded and Dorian knew that the highway had an outpost on it.

“Balian,” Dorian began when the outpost loomed in the distance manned with a garrison of Imperium soldiers, “a warning. You must control your temper here.”

Balian’s brow furrowed, though he’d gotten his secret off his chest he was still moody. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never been to Tevinter before, you haven’t been yourself lately and your temper is short. They will not care they you are Ser Balian Lavellan; Champion of Starkhaven…to them you are a slave and will call you that and worse to your face.”

“Sounds like a charming country,” he replied disdainfully.

“He’s right,” Bull added, he’d been to Tevinter enough to know that Elves, no matter who they were, had it rough, “look wrong at someone you could find yourself strung up somewhere.”

Balian scowled. “They can try.”

“Damnit, Bail, I mean it,” Dorian persisted sounding annoyed with the attitude on his lover.

“I am not going to cower in a corner, Dorian, I am not a slave and will never be one and I refuse to act like one,” he snarled back forcefully showing his pride.

“Sweet Andraste’s great flaming ass, this is what I’m talking about, control your bloody temper,” The mage hissed and urged his horse to move forward.

Balian glowered as Bull passed him and then followed suit behind them. “Charming fucking country,” he muttered.


	17. Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, there has been an update to this. I switched around some relationships so if you've already read the previous chapters and are catching the update there've been some changes starting with Chapter Two.

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Seventeen: Bree

 

Skyhold seemed strange without Dorian haunting it; once in a while he left for Tevinter and was gone for a few months but this was the first time Khrys was truly worried about him.

Spring time in Orlais was beautiful, lush green fields as far as the eye could see, leafing trees, blooming wildflowers…Bree smiled to herself, she could get used to Orlais. Skye enjoyed munching on the wildflowers and grass and bushes that were tall enough to snack on as she passed.

Jean leaned against the 100 year old oak tree that he’d loved since he was a kid. Mau grazed lazily 10 feet away with his stablemates Muir and Shine, he came to a whistle so tying him was never an issue. He didn’t like taking guards with him where ever he went, he was a highly trained Chevalier but given that he was heir to the Empire he took his best friend and his squire. Etienne was a Chevalier the same age as he, they’d trained together and Jean trusted him to keep his mouth shut about gossip and Phillippe never repeated anything Jean said or did.

Etienne was the third son of the Duke of Jader; he’d never go anywhere since his parents had the heir and the spare so he threw himself into the Chevaliers with enthusiasm. The dark haired Chevalier pulled a weed stem apart seeming bored with waiting. When Jean asked him to come along he had no problem he just wasn’t sure he saw the point. He looked around the giant oak to make sure Mau, Muir, and Shine were behaving like the disciplined mounts they were.

“Is she worth this?” he asked and Jean glanced to him. “I mean the meeting under an oak tree business; can you just invite her to Halamshiral or Val Royeaux and woo her like the rest?”

Jean snorted; Etienne was the typical Orlesian noble and had a revolving door of trysts much to his father’s chagrin. “Because she’s not like the court ladies you and I are used to, she has an independent spirit and would prefer spending meaningful time under an oak tree to that of the palace court,” Jean answered. “And yes, she is worth every moment, Etienne.”

Etienne shrugged, it wasn’t his place to judge him but this was the first time Jean went out of his way to impress a girl.

**

Jean was right where his letter said he would be, the Prince went nowhere without armor on but it wasn’t the full Chevalier armor that he wore during the tournament. This armor was the family armor, made of silverite with gold filigree the de Chalons family crest on a field of purple. His half mask was different from the ones she’d seen already and it revealed more of his face to her since it didn’t drop down past his nose. Its dark color and smaller size made him look more like a bandit than anything else but it was less extravagant than others she had seen. He wore the blue scarf tied to his right arm like he had at the tournament and she felt her stomach flutter. An Orlesian Prince was wearing her favor.

He had two others with him, the squire she recognized from the tournament and other man with black hair in full armor but masked. Another Chevalier she guessed.

Jean smiled seeing Bree not in a gown; of course she was in her riding leathers, as pretty as she was in a gown he found he preferred her in riding leathers. There was something about her that he couldn’t get enough of. She traveled with two guards, a woman on a grey Forder was obviously a Templar and did nothing to hide it; he appreciated the pride of the old Order. And another man on lighter built bay, his armor was ornate but carried no symbols or crests. Everyone was armed, including Bree; her staff rested comfortably in its place hanging off of the mare she rode. He could hear Etienne now with the realization that she was a mage but the Chevalier remained silent only glancing to him once before keeping his eyes on the three that approached.

Jean and Etienne did the same thing without speaking; they sized them up in seconds, looking for dangers. The relaxed body language was hard to miss and indicated that they posed no threat but Etienne kept his guard, after all that was why he was there. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to his Emperor, still the leader of the Chevaliers after all these years, that he let his guard down and something happened to the Prince.

“Jean,” Bree greeted with a beaming smile.

His mask did nothing to hide the fact that Jean actually blushed at her radiant smile and stepped toward her offering to help her from the saddle. Bree didn’t accept the offer and dismounted on her own effortlessly. “My Lady.” He smiled back bowing to her. “I am pleased you made it.”

She giggled. “Of course I did, you asked me to,” she smiled sweetly.

Jean swallowed, her smile could charm a demon but he gathered himself and looked to his squire. “Philippe, see to the Lady’s horse and to that of her companions,” he ordered as the Templar and the Soldier dismounted. The Templar was wary but the other was relaxed, though looked ready for anything.

“Ser Ramelle, Highness,” the Templar introduced bowing deeply to him, she was Orlesian and he nodded to her respectfully.

“Cremisius Aclassi, Highness, Bull’s Chargers.” The other introduced bowing slightly, the Tevinter accent threw Jean off but he was a mercenary and the relaxed body language now made sense. He may have looked relaxed but the man was ready for anything. “We won’t be far if you need us, Bree,” he said specifically to Bree.

Jean wasn’t insulted, he would have insisted guards be present to protect her anyway. “Come, ma bichette,” he beckoned and they walked toward the giant oak. “Allow me to introduce my good friend Lord Etienne, third son of the Duke of Jader.”

Etienne’s bow was respectful but he only smiled with a simple greeting. “My Lady,” his tone was polite but he was thinking exactly what Jean thought he would. She was a mage, a beautiful one, but still a mage…the Empire would turn inside out.

The oak grove was a picturesque setting; the old trees shaded a small meadow with a brook that ran east to west. The oldest tree was the one Jean had been standing under but the rest were almost as old, and the grove itself appeared to be visited often. Small trails clearly marked the path from the grandfather tree to the meadow.

For someone who saw primarily snow in her day to day, the lush green grove splattered with pockets of colorful wildflowers was a welcome change. It was like looking at a painting and she suspected that someone must have tried to capture this scene at least once.

“What do you think of Orlais, ma bichette?” he asked, this wasn’t her first trip to his country and he knew that but her opinion of his home meant a lot to him.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied as she turned around to face him. “How did you know about this place? An oak grove is hardly on the beaten path.”

Jean chuckled with a shrug, Verchiel was his home but this grove was his favorite place in his Empire. “That old oak has been here since before I was born, Etienne and I used to climb it when we were kids.”

Bree cocked her head. “I thought you said you were from Verchiel?” It felt good to be able to talk to him without worry about her father cropping up to bark at them. She was grateful that her mother had a more open mind about her blossoming relationship than her father did.

Jean perched on a boulder and watched her; she was quite beautiful and best of all intelligent. “I am. Verchiel is the de Chalons family home. Our fathers would hold hunts in this area, and still do, so Etienne and I would come out here, climb the trees, race through the groves, scare off all the game.” He paused as he thought of home, he hated Val Royeaux and would rather rule from Verchiel, Halamshiral was a little better and would probably choose that as his main palace once he ascended but hopefully that was far from this day.

“Tell me of it.”

He was all too happy to, he loved Verchiel. It was a quiet little town and he appreciated that it was far from the chaos that was Val Royeaux, in that he and his father were alike; they were warriors, men of action, when they weren’t in a war they preferred peace and quiet. “It’s quiet. It has its place in the Great Game but I like it better. I hate Val Royeaux…it’s too crowded,” he said. “I grew up there, well, mostly, my moth…” he paused momentarily, “my mother’s buried there.”

Jean never spoke of his mother and Bree found that curious. “You never talk of her.”

There was a reason for that, he never got a chance too, and his father never really spoke of her. “I never knew her. She died in childbirth, my father doesn’t speak of her much either but I know he loved her.”

“I’m sorry, Jean.”

Jean didn’t want the pity, that’s not why he told her. “No apology necessary, ma bichette, I know of your family it is only fair that I return it in kind,” he said and remained perched as he studied her. “Speaking of…should I be expecting your father to come out and roast me in a vat of arcane fire?”

Bree laughed. “No,” she continued to chuckle. “No, he doesn’t know I’m here. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Jean grinned; she was a rebel not afraid to defy her father. “Well, it might hurt me when he figures it out.”

She chuckled and moved toward the tall Orlesian still casually perched on the boulder. “I think you might survive,” she smiled and he swallowed at her proximity, even leaned back on the rock he was still significantly taller than she. He seized the opportunity and kissed her, gently though, not meaning to offend or overstep. He sensed that he was more experienced than she was and placed his right hand her cheek. Her heart raced, she’d never been kissed before and now she was being kissed by an Orlesian Prince. Jean followed the kiss to the end and pulled away. He covered his nerves with confidence but it varied momentarily. “I would like to court you, My Lady Bree.”

Bree giggled nervously and like a giddy little girl, Jean was the picture of Orlesian propriety, he actually declared his intentions and practically asked her permission. She blushed wildly and Jean must have seen it since he chuckled. “I’d like that,” she managed trying not to sound too foolish and suddenly couldn’t think of what to say next. Instead she kissed him, this time initiated by her; he didn’t pull away and returned the kiss.

**

A few hours had passed and Etienne paced, it was boredom. Mau and Muir devoured as much grass as they could and pinned ears at each other when the other’s personal space was invaded. Shine, Phillippe’s horse, seemed asleep on her feet. Etienne grumbled to himself as he heard Muir squeal at his roan counterpart and the murky bay turned his rump to the Prince’s horse in warning. It was after midday and he understood his friend, who happened to be the Prince, wanting to get to know someone before asking to court her but this seemed a bit extreme. For Jean to actually like the person his father threw at him was a shot in the dark that just happened to hit the bullseye.

He scoffed quietly at his own aversion to marriage; he didn’t want to get married no matter how much daddy dearest pushed him which is why he threw himself into the Chevaliers as he did. If he was there and busy there was less of a chance his parents would trap him with some unlucky noble daughter.

“Something wrong?” The Tevinter mercenary asked him and Etienne looked almost affronted to the man even speaking to him. He had a nasty habit of looking down his nose to people, an Orlesian flaw, but he stifled it.

“No,” he responded.

Krem snorted shaking his head as the Orlesian didn’t look at him. They could see Bree and Jean a good distance away; he was still perched on the boulder and seemed to be laughing with her. “The Lady seems quite taken with your master.”

Etienne shot him a look, most of its ire hidden behind the mask. He was a Chevalier not a servant or slave, Jean wasn’t his master…he was his sovereign, a Chevalier, and therefore his brother. “He’s not my master, Mercenary; he’s my brother and my Prince,” he snapped rudely.

Krem wasn’t offended, he’d spent years in Orlais and knew that they were very touchy about how things were worded. Etienne was clearly a Chevalier, the trademark yellow feather notwithstanding, and he respected his devotion to his Lord.

Etienne sighed, he shouldn’t have snapped like that, Chevalier’s were supposed to be professional…something they needed to be reminded of occasionally. “But you are correct,” he added after a moment of hearing nothing but the strong breeze move the old oak’s limbs. “I’ve never seen him go through this much effort for a girl. Your lady must be quite special.”

Krem allowed a nod with a smile. “That she is, Ser Etienne.”

**

Bree thought of her father for a moment as she walked with her right arm linked around Jean’s left elbow. He would kill her if he knew she was here but in all honesty she knew that he might actually like him if he looked beyond the fact that he was an Orlesian Chevalier. Jean was a gentleman, and he didn’t act like a Prince he seemed to want to act like someone below his station, average.

She looked up at the tall man she was walking with; he had a handsome face, even with some of it covered. He had a strong jaw and blue eyes, and unlike most Orlesian nobles she’d met, he was clean shaven. Though he did have a day or two’s worth of facial hair growth.

“You’re looking at me again,” he said and she looked away sharply with an embarrassed smile.

“I can’t help it,” she grinned, “you’re just so handsome.”

Jean blushed with a smile he couldn’t stop at the flattery, he couldn’t think of anything to say in return that didn’t sound terrible and sickly sappy in his head. She laughed at his speechlessness and he only blushed deeper. His brain screamed for him to say something and he stopped walking and turned to face her. “I would like you to have this.”

Bree’s expression was curious as he pulled a flat gold and green ring off the small finger of his left hand. She took it and studied it. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”

“My sigil,” he replied as she ran her fingers over the engraving, the rearing lion she recognized as de Chalons but the rearing horse was unique to Jean, the symbol of the Chevaliers. He wore his father’s coat of arms but he was entitled to his own and it was subtly different.

“It’s very beautiful, Jean, but does this mean we’re engaged?” she asked with a chuckle, she wasn’t trying to back him into a corner and her humor was evident.

Jean laughed softly in return. “No, bichette, you gave me this and I wear it with pride,” he explained and put a light hand on the blue fabric tied around his upper right arm. “This is my gift to you to wear carefully so your father doesn’t kill me.”

Bree laughed, Jean wasn’t like any Orlesian she’d ever met, not even Michel who helped raise her. He certainly wasn’t as she pictured a stuffy royal would be. “What’s this, the Prince of Orlais afraid of a mage?” she teased and Jean chuckled.

“That mage is a Tevinter magister, bichette, I’m no fool,” he said and she tried the ring on her right thumb…it barely fit, Maker his hands were big. She’d figure out how to wear it so she wouldn’t lose it but for now she held it tightly on her thumb. She moved to continue walking but he spoke up. “And Bree…when I propose…I’ll give something far greater than that.”

Bree’s cheeks burned hot as she blushed and felt giddy. He said _when_ not _if_.

Jean walked with her and he looked at the sky, he didn’t want her traveling after the sun went down, he wanted to spend much more time with her but propriety dictated that he limit it for now. He would appease her father to a point but there was no need to burn bridges by overstepping too early. “Philippe,” Jean called, his accent which was light but present seemed to thicken when he raised his voice to his squire, “ready the lady’s horse.”

“Eager to be rid of me, Highness?” she asked and he snorted.

“Don’t want you on the road when the sun goes down, it’s a long way back to Skyhold and it would be improper of me to put you at risk for my own selfish reasons,” he replied with a smile, he enjoyed it when she teased him. Bree was beautiful and funny, she teased him and flirted, and she carried herself well and had been trained by Michel how to fight…she was perfect.

**

A hooded figure seemed to appear from nowhere right in their midst, almost like magic. Bree didn’t see him until he was near Krem. “Lady Gabriella,” he began and Krem’s head snapped around at the voice he hadn’t heard in over a decade. It had been a long time but he’d never forget that Elf.

“Solas,” Krem breathed, his shock was quickly overtaken by the situation. There was no way this was a good thing, Solas didn’t just show up to say ‘hi’. He always had a purpose. The last time he’d been seen was in Amaranthine and it cost the Wardens one of the greatest men their order had ever seen.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The green magic of the fade was evident and she saw the stone fist hit Etienne square in the chest with enough force to knock him back a good distance. Etienne sprawled back and didn’t move after he came to a stop. Bree had the chance to block the magic aimed at Jean with the Aegis and it bounced back to Solas.

Krem was able to take a swing at Solas and nearly got him, Bree was shocked as she saw the Elf turn him to stone right before her eyes. “No!” a woman screamed and it took Bree a few moments to realize that she was the one who screamed. She reacted and dispelled his magic but not quick enough to save Philippe from being killed instantly by a deafening crack of lightening. His next spell evaporated giving Ramelle a shot at him. Bree felt the tingle of the Templar’s Ward and Jean joined the fight.

Solas was no swordsman but he was no slouch at fighting, he knew tricks they had never even thought of and he got close enough to Ramelle to kill her with the bladed gauntlet. His mana regenerated quicker than Ramelle expected and it cost her life.

The lingering effects of the ward from the Templar angered him but he had this group pretty well beat. Bree’s Aegis was a bit of a surprise and the lightening hit him due to its unique feature. Khrys must have taught her how to use it but instead of being this huge bubble that could repel a dragon’s attack it was more like a personal shield. It was a nifty little talent. He got irritated and swung his staff with as much force as he could cracking it across Jean’s right temple knocking the Prince out cold.

Bree was the last man standing but she suspected that was by design. She got a bad feeling about it. Solas, the man everyone wanted had just killed this party to get to her. She readied herself for an attack but knew she was woefully outclassed. Solas allowed a slight smile at the defiant girl before him. She raised the Aegis as she saw him start to cast and her entire world went black.

**

Jean came back to the world of the living slowly, everything was muffled like he was hearing under water and when he opened his eyes the vision was blurry. It sent a searing throb from his right temple to his left and when he moved the throb worsened. He crawled to his knees and his entire head hurt so much he vomited. There was pain around his right eye and he realized that his mask was broken; the Elf hit him so hard it broke the right side of his mask driving pieces of it into his skin. He removed some of the shards and wiped some the blood from his eyes. The sun had moved, lower in the sky, he estimated it was three maybe four in the afternoon and guessed he’d been coconscious for nearly an hour.

He staggered to his feet and groaned, his head hurt, badly but he took stock of what was around him. The mercenary, Krem had been turned to stone…he remembered seeing that, the Templar was dead from a wound to her neck, and his eyes fell to Philippe’s unmoving body. He ran to him, or rather stumbled to him, but the lad was dead, his eyes were wide and full of fear and he smelled like burned flesh. _The poor kid_. Jean ran his hand over his eyes to close them and crossed his hands over his chest to let the kid rest.

He didn’t see Etienne while he counted the horses, they were all there, even Skye but he didn’t see Bree anywhere. “Bree?” he called but Muir jumped at his loud shout. When the murky bay moved he saw Etienne. Jean’s eyes went wide and a screaming prayer went through his head, the black haired Chevalier was his best friend, a brother even.

“Etienne!” Jean called as he forced himself into a sprint. His head throbbed and he felt like vomiting but he forced it to the back of his mind. Etienne was flat on his back and not moving. “Etienne!” he called again and crashed to his knees with a pained grunt, his fellow Chevalier wasn’t moving but Jean felt breath on his palm. He was alive and Jean felt a wave of relief. Etienne’s breastplate was caved in like a Giant punched the silverite metal. Jean pulled his gloves off and started to unbuckle the breastplate, it took a moment before it released and Jean cast it aside. “Etienne, no time for sleeping, wake up.”

As if on cue Etienne gasped like he’d been strangled then coughed clutching his chest, he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by his horse. “Oww,” he groaned and shallowed his breaths, breathing deeply hurt too much.

“Easy. Easy,” Jean coached as the pain radiated all through Etienne’s chest.

Jean’s head throbbed again and his vision swam. Etienne’s head cleared even though his chest hadn’t. “The mage?” he questioned with a sense of urgency, the last thing he remembered was being hit in the chest by a conjured green boulder.

Jean took a moment to sit comfortably on the ground, he felt like he was going to vomit. “Gone.”

To Etienne’s credit he sat up, it was ugly but he sat up. “Lady Bree?”

Jean’s stomach turned but kept it in check. “Gone,” he said and squeezed his eyes shut. “Philippe, the Templar, and the Charger all dead.”

“Who was that guy?” he asked and forced himself to his feet, for a moment both of them held each other up and Etienne tried to remember how to breathe and Jean tried not to fall down from his spinning head. What a pair these two Orlesian Chevaliers made.

**

A throbbing head and occasional spinning vision didn’t stop Jean from picking up the trail. He couldn’t get his head around it; the hooded mage came out of nowhere and decimated them. They lost the trail after an hour of heading north, generally.

Jean’s head spun as it throbbed from right to left and he lost his stomach for the second time since the attack. He wretched over the right ride of Mau as Etienne appeared next to him.

“You don’t look so good,” Etienne commented. “In fact you look like shit, Highness.”

Jean grumbled trying to spit the taste out and gave his fellow Chevalier a stern look. “And you’re such a thing of beauty?”

Etienne snorted, the noble ladies of court would agree that he was by far the most handsome of the Chevaliers, right now…though probably not. “Well, normally I am, but taking a magical boulder to the chest really takes it out of you,” he retorted and Jean took a moment to collect himself.

“We’ve lost the trail…he’s a mage…if he used magic to cover it we’ll never find him,” Jean said and tried to soothe his pained head with a deep breath of fresh air…it didn’t work, if anything he felt worse. “Turn north to Jader, raise an alarm,” he paused and Etienne seized the opportunity to make his displeasure known.

“Where are you going?” Jean let the interruption slide given their physical states.

“I’m going to Skyhold.” He finished. “The Inquisition needs to know.”

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

Jean was easy going as far as nobles came; he wasn’t snobby, didn’t usually sneer, and enjoyed it when people spoke their minds. Right now, however, Jean wasn’t in the mood for Etienne’s stubbornness. “ ‘Let me’?” he growled and Etienne recognized his error, Jean had been his friend since the Academie but he was still the heir to the Empire.

He ducked his head at the tone, a noticeable apology for overstepping his bounds. “My apologies, Highness, my only concern is your safety.”

Jean nodded, appreciative for his friend’s concern. “I understand,” he replied quietly. “Go to Jader, 10 minutes after you get there I want every soldier along the coast spreading inland until all of Orlais is looking for Bree.”

Etienne didn’t argue, he saw it then, he knew in that moment that Bree was more than a passing fancy for him…his father had been parading ladies in front of him for marriage since he was 15 but Jean wasn’t interested in the frilly ladies. It took time before Gaspard finally realized that Jean dallied with girls who worked, hunted, rode, or trained in combat, but when he did the frilly ladies stopped and he was presented with Bree. Etienne saw it, he was in love. “My word on it, Highness, we’ll find her.”

Jean nodded as Etienne spurred Muir into a canter, north to Jader, Etienne was going home. Jean pressed his right leg into Mau and the stallion spun to the right, south to Skyhold.

**

Mau was considered to be an unimpressive mount, he wasn’t flashy or perfect, he bit, he kicked, and he had a somewhat undesirable conformation, but the horse had determination like no other. In battle he was vicious and did anything Jean asked him to. Tired and lathered with sweat the horse showed impressive stamina and did as commanded. He’d never been so proud of his warhorse…he’d never own a better one. Jean felt worse as time went on, his head still hurt, his vision was blurry, and he knew that vomiting as many times as he had was a bad thing.

He encountered an Inquisition outpost and told them what happened before pressing on to Skyhold. He’d lost track of time but he was sure he must have slept while riding since the sun was now in an impossibly different position than he remembered. He praised his horse for staying on course, the well-traveled road to Skyhold.

By the time he reached Skyhold he didn’t know how long he’d been riding, he hadn’t stopped and was frankly astonished he hadn’t fallen off and passed out. He was in a fog and barely registered the gate guards calling for his identification. He was unmasked and clearly injured but he shook the fatigue and cloudiness from his mind and focused. “I am Prince Jean-Fredric of Orlais and I must speak with the Inquisitor.”

The guards looked at each other and then back to him, Jean felt his head spin as his vertigo was enhanced by the way Skyhold was situated. He tried willing himself to stay in the saddle and remain conscious but he couldn’t put it off anymore, his injury was severe. He hit the stone bridge hard sending shooting pain through his head again.

“Fetch the Inquisitor! And a healer!” he heard one of the guards yell before his world faded to black.

**

Jean awoke once again to blurry vision and a monumental headache, there was someone sitting on the edge of his bed and his vision cleared enough to see the man he recognized as an Inquisition agent, a young man with shaggy brown hair. Had he made it to the Inquisition? White magic emanated from his left hand and came closer to his face. Jean was disoriented, he wasn’t sure that he actually made it to Skyhold or if that was a delusion, and he shied from it trying to slide away from the potential danger.

“Easy. Easy, Prince,” the mage said softly, “you’re safe. Go back to sleep while I heal you.”

Jean’s eyes grew heavy as his body tingled with the sensation of Creation magic, it flooded his body and he drifted off to a content slumber. His last thoughts were of Bree, her beautiful smile, loose locks of black hair framing her sweet face…she was taken from him…he had to find her.

Voices brought Jean from his dreamless state. “Malcolm, will he be alright?” he heard a woman ask, he knew that voice to be the Inquisitor.

“He had a massive head injury. It took a lot to heal him…I don’t think he realizes how close he came to meeting the Maker.” That was the Healer, Malcolm, Khrys called him, he remembered Bree talking about him in letters, her friend, a man she called a brother. Bree flooded his mind, first happy memories then the bad ones. The ones that landed him in his current state, she’d been taken. He stirred like he’d been startled and groaned, healed or not the headache remained.

At least his vision was now clear and his stomach wasn’t sour, he managed to sit on the edge of the bed and collect himself as feet rushed toward him. “Highness,” Khrys began as he felt Creation magic flare into his body, he tingled again, “are you alright? Where’s Bree?”

Jean looked up to see Malcolm, Michel, and Khrys; the magic dissipated from Malcolm as he nodded to Khrys. “Your headache will remain for a time but you should be fine.” The healer told him and Jean looked at Khrys and stood.

“The Lady Bree has been taken,” he told her and saw Khrys pale then look over to Ser Michel, he served the Inquisition but he was still a Chevalier. “At our meeting site we were attacked by a mage, my squire, and Lady Bree’s guards were killed,” Jean explained, there was no time for formalities, no time for pleasantries, he needed to be quick and efficient and was speaking to the Chevalier rather than to Khrys. “My guard and I were knocked unconscious; when we came to she was gone with a trail that led north. We followed it for a time until we lost it completely but the only thing in that direction of note is Jader and surrounding hamlets. I sent my guard to Jader to raise and alarm and begin a search.”

Michel took the synopsis in like a sponge quickly figuring out what needed to be done next. They needed to send word to Jader, Val Royeaux, Cumberland, and Kirkwall to be on the lookout for Lady Bree if her kidnapper intended to take her across the Sea. She was like a daughter to him and he felt the panic of her being missing but his training took over and kept him in check. He looked at Malcolm whose expression didn’t betray the concern he knew he felt. “Fetch Cullen and Charter,” he ordered gently and Malcolm left without a word. Michel looked the Prince up and down. Malcolm had done a good job of healing his head injury and cleaned the dried blood off his face but the Prince looked disheveled. “You made it from there to Skyhold in less than three days, Highness, well done.”

Jean hadn’t realized it had been that long, the odd placement of the sun now made a bit more sense however. “The credit goes to my horse, Ser Michel.” If he’d had any other mount he probably would have never made it here so swiftly.

Michel nodded, the bond between a Chevalier and his horse was strange to the outside observer but this was precisely the reason he wept for the loss of his horse all those years ago. Mau got his injured rider where he needed to be. “He’s being cared for in the stable, Highness.”

Khrys had stopped listening at ‘attacked by a mage’ and her world went blank. Her stomach dropped and she screamed on the inside. He didn’t say there were many he just said ‘a mage’ and she was almost certain of who it was. “What did he look like?” she asked silencing the Orlesians.

Jean’s brow furrowed an odd feeling without the mask, he felt different without his mask and as odd as it sounded he felt naked. He’d never actually liked it but now that it was broken under the oak tree it felt different somehow. “An Elf, bald, with a command of magic I have never seen. The mercenary, Krem, called him Solas. He defeated the Templar easily and turned the mercenary to stone.”

Khrys felt the strength in her legs leave her and she sank to the ground with an emotional cry. Solas. How could he do this to her? Why would he do this to her? Michel knelt down next to her for comfort and Jean looked down with his brow still furrowed. “Why would he do this?” Khrys asked in a heart wrenching tone, her former lover just reached a new all-time low. Murdering Nathaniel was one thing, kidnapping Bree was another, what could Solas possible want from her?

“That was him wasn’t it?” Jean asked putting it all together quickly. “The one called Fen’Harel.”

Khrys didn’t hear him, her mind was racing with all the possible reasons for Solas to take her daughter but Michel looked up at the unmasked Prince and nodded.

**

Skyhold had mobilized, Ravens had come and gone; Etienne had done what he was ordered to and pretty much all of Orlais was on the search. He’d even received a message from his father in Val Royeaux. He didn’t like that, he liked that his father was providing help but he’d failed…he’d failed miserably.

Jean was angry, with himself mostly, he let an innocent person be abducted from his care. Not only that, he was certain that he loved her. How did this happen? How could he let her be taken from him? He held her favor, the blue scarf she’d given him, in his hands cursing himself for his failure. He was a Chevalier, a Prince, groomed for war and battle since childhood and he let someone just walk in and take someone he cared for.

“Highness,” a voice said from behind him. He balled the scarf up and turned to see Michel, his failure welled further. Michel was like a father to Bree so he couldn’t meet his eyes. “I brought you this.”

Jean noticed the mask being offered, Michel didn’t wear one anymore but he understood that no matter how much the mask could be detested by the wearer going without it after growing up with it was uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he said and took the mask putting it on quickly. It was habit, he didn’t like them necessarily, but it was like second nature to him. Dorian wasn’t present, he apparently was in Tevinter, Michel turned to leave the Prince in silence but he couldn’t let him. “Ser Michel,”

The blonde Chevalier paused and turned to face him. “Highness?”

He owed him an apology along with Dorian and Khrys. He was a protector by nature and failed miserably at protecting the woman he was intending to court. “I’m sorry,” he said and Michel cocked his head at the young Prince. Orlesians, especially Orlesian nobles, didn’t apologize. “I should have protected her.”

The Prince sounded embarrassed and, above all, ashamed. He didn’t blame him, when it came to Solas he was tough to defend against. “Highness…there’s no need to apologize. Solas walked into a castle full of Wardens, got what he wanted, killed their best Warden, almost killed the Queen, and walked back out again.” Michel’s attempt to make him feel better fell flat. Jean didn’t take failure lightly; he was just like his father in that regard. The kid blamed himself and that wasn’t fair. “Highness,”

“Please call me Jean,” he replied and leaned forward on the railing still gripping the blue scarf.

Michel almost cringed at being asked to be that informal with the heir to the Empire so he sidestepped it. “No one blames you. You were injured but you didn’t let that stop you. You rode back to Skyhold, you raised the alarm, and now everyone is looking for her,” he said and stepped up next to him, the way the Prince was holding the blue fabric told him all he needed to know. “Jean, this place has more mages that are capable of things I never knew existed. We are going to find her. Solas…Solas wouldn’t take her unless he wanted something from Khrys.”

Jean didn’t like that, it didn’t help but he understood what Michel was saying.

“And for what it’s worth…you have my blessing,” he added and Jean looked over at him, his brow noticeably furrowed even under the mask. “You’ll have to get around Dorian still but you’re a good man, Highness.”

**

Bree woke like she’d been poked by something sharp; she panicked, not recognizing her surroundings and her memories of what had happened didn’t help matters. Where was she? Where was Jean? She stood feeling a little shaky…and hungry, her stomach growled loudly. She ignored it and checked herself over, she had no apparent injuries but all her weapons were gone. Her knife and her Sprit Blade was also missing. Of course, it would be, only an idiot would leave her with weapons but he had to know that she was a mage and she didn’t need weapons to be dangerous.

The chamber was comfortable, spartan, but comfortable. The bed was clean and fluffy, a fire burned in a small hearth on the right end of the room, and its architecture had a distinct Elven feel about it. She examined it; it was a strange cell…if that’s what it was. Bree stepped to the door and tried it, to her shock it gave. Why was she in an unlocked room? She tabled that thought and stepped into the hall. She could go right or left and her brow furrowed, there were no guards that she could see but she had the impression that she was underground. The corridors were tall but didn’t have the same stone structure that Skyhold did. It was carved not built. Bree took a moment and chose right. It still looked Elven but nothing like the ruins she’d been in.

The corridor led to a larger chamber, still it didn’t look built as much as carved, and given its size it must have taken considerable time to do so. There was a man seated at the table, obviously an Elf, bald, and Bree felt her stomach sink.

He turned to face her and she felt like she was going to need to fight, if she was a prisoner he was a poor jailer and that was a comfortable cell but he didn’t attack, he simply smiled at her with a polite nod. “Good evening,” he greeted politely and Bree blinked. Her first instinct was to attack, to escape but something tempered her. Her father taught her to be aggressive but her mother instilled caution. As a novice Knight-Enchanter Michel instructed her in the mastery of sword and she had a natural ability to command fire but this was the same man who single-handedly defeated Ramelle and Krem, so an attack may not have been prudent. Her mind raced briefly, Krem and Ramelle were dead as was Jean’s squire but she didn’t know about the rest. “Are you hungry?”

Her brow furrowed, he was an interesting jailer…if that’s what he was. “You’re him aren’t you?” she questioned but still didn’t move from where she was and remained poised for defense or attack.

He smiled and chuckled softly, his smile was charming and his chuckle was kind. “What kind of question is that?” he asked still laughing.

Bree eyed him critically; this was the man that her mother fell in love with and the cause of most of her pain. The ancient Elf named Solas. “I know you,” she said ignoring his question. “My mother still speaks of you…Solas.”

Solas smiled and gestured to the table, he knew Khrys still thought of him despite the Chevalier she now bedded. “And you are Gabriella.”

“Where am I?”

“Please sit, Da’len.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Where am I?”

Solas’ observation of her was mixed, she looked like Dorian but there was something about her that screamed of Khrystabel. It was her manner, not her looks apart from her eyes, the way she carried herself was the same as her mother. His lingering regret surfaced briefly before he locked it away. She could have been his. “Please sit.”

Bree let her temper flare and took one step forward her right hand conjuring a threatening flame. “Not until you tell me where I am and why I’m here!” she snarled in return.

Solas seemed underwhelmed and made no move to stop her or shield himself. “You have your father’s way, Da’len.”

The audacity of this terrorist, who did he think he was to call her something only Balian and her mother called her. “Stop calling me that!” she barked and released the flame blast from her hand at it.

He was still unimpressed and dissipated the flame before it reached him, magic that Bree had never seen before and then felt a strong negative energy pull toward him then she was flat on her back after being hit by something she could only liken to a force blast. She groaned as pain spread across the back of her head and then Solas appeared over her.

“You are exactly like your father,” he commented offering her a hand. Bree glowered and did not accept the help; instead she picked herself up and tried to maintain an arm’s length distance from him. “I do not wish to harm you, Gabriella, so please…sit,” he told her allowing his tone to be a little firmer.

“I am in serious trouble,” she thought to herself, this was Solas, the most powerful mage in Thedas…the man who walked into Vigil’s Keep, took on the Warden-Queen, survived, and killed Nathaniel. The man who sundered the world, created the veil, and now wanted to destroy it. A blood mage couldn’t kill him so there wasn’t a hope in hell for her to succeed where they’d failed.

She sat and surveyed the table, there was meat and fruit and her stomach growled. Something told her to not eat anything but she was very hungry. Solas sat also, looking at her from across the table, his eyes were unsettling. “Why am I here?” her true question was ‘Where was Jean?’ but she let it alone. Solas had her for a reason; he attacked Vigil’s Keep for a reason so therefore he took her for a reason.

Solas didn’t answer; he wasn’t a fool to divulge his plans. “Eat,” he said and Bree’s face colored with anger.

“You don’t start answering my questions I’ll make you a very unhappy jailer,” she spat and Solas actually chuckled.

“Now you sound like your mother,” he replied affectionately. “You are here for a reason but I will tell you no more. I do not intend to harm you so don’t give me a reason to.”

“You killed my friends,” she hissed.

Solas blinked and looked down at the dish that had cut up apples in it. “I took no pleasure in killing Krem…I always liked him.”

“And yet you did it anyway… and killed Ramelle, and Etienne, and Philippe, and Je-…”

“The Prince is alive,” he said cutting her off; at least he hoped his hit didn’t kill him, and saw the expression on her face. He knew budding love when he saw it and it made him smile slightly. She fiddled with the ring on her right thumb. Its design was distinctly Orlesian and he snorted inwardly, his spies didn’t say they’d bonded that much. “What has your mother told you about me?”

“Why am I here?” she asked and Solas snorted softly.

“I like you, Gabriella; you remind me of your mother,” he commented noticing that it only infuriated her more.

The comment offended her, he spoke of her mother but he haunted her dreams and every waking moment. “You don’t even know me,” she snarled back and snatched a piece of apple from the bowl he was eating from. If it was safe for him it was okay for her.

“But I do. You are adept with fire, you study Knight-Enchanting, and you are a Dreamer,” he rattled off and Bree’s hackles went up. “You know the Aegis of the Rift. Did your mother teach you that?”

“Why am I here?” she growled, if he wanted ask her questions, he was going to have to answer a few.

Solas sighed heavily and replied the same way. “You’re here for a purpose, I will tell you no more,” he said and Bree glared at him.

“Then this is going to be a very one sided conversation for you,” she hissed. Solas’ expression didn’t change; he wasn’t lying when he said he liked her. Bree was a fiery one just as he’d observed in the Fade, she was a strong Dreamer and that was what alerted him to her but she was stronger than Dreamers were supposed to be. No one was a match for him but he could sense her power, she had potential, a lot of potential.

Bree studied him through her glare. She didn’t trust him, not one bit. His question, she answered in her head. Her mother did tell her a bit, not too much bit the rest she’d heard from Michel, Cullen, and of course her father. Solas was charming and kind but also manipulative. He broke her mother’s heart twice. He wanted to destroy the world and now he’d kidnapped her, she got a bad feeling about that…if he’d kidnapped her that meant she was a part of whatever his scheme was.

**

Bree didn’t eat much, she was too busy eyeing him and wondering if all the food was tainted or poisoned. She ate whatever he ate but her stomach was still growling, she wanted to devour everything on that table but she didn’t trust him.

“What is this place?” she asked looking around the hall. It didn’t look like any hall she’d ever been in; to be honest it looked like an Elven temple.

“A place of power,” he answered.

He wasn’t lying; she could feel the power in the hall. It felt like Skyhold but stronger, there was magic in the place, powerful magic that she’d never felt before. “Are you always this cryptic?”

Solas allowed a slight smile and a soft snort. “That’s what I’ve been told,” he replied and glowered briefly looking away. Bree rolled her eyes, now she knew why her mother loved him and her father hated him. “You’re a strong Dreamer but you don’t seem to use your power much.”

Bree heard him but just chose to ignore him. She was a Dreamer, contrary to the popular belief she wasn’t weak as most believed Dreamers were. Prone to possession and death. Bree was far from that. She’d gone in and out of the fade at will since she was a child and never had issues with the demons or spirits.

“You asked me a question and now you refuse to answer one of mine?” Solas went on and Bree turned to face him.

“You didn’t ask a question, you made a statement,” she growled and Solas actually laughed.

“I did indeed,” he replied through the chuckle. “Why do you not use your gift, Gabriella?”

Bree turned from him and took in the hall, it was size of the great hall in Skyhold but she didn’t think it was much bigger than that. There were no windows and she still had the impression that she was underground. “Bree,” she corrected absentmindedly. “My father calls me Gabriella when I’m in trouble.” She blinked not sure why she’d just told him that but answered his question. “When I was 12 I influenced the minds of some people in Skyhold. Afterward, my father taught me how to control it better.”

Solas nearly sneered and a scoff came out. “Your father?”

Bree turned on him again. “My father is a great mage, _Fen’Harel_ ,” she snapped using the name as a curse.

Solas liked her spirit; it was just like her mothers. “Your father is a Magister and a show off and you’re a fool if you think he’s a great mage.”

Bree lunged forward but stopped short about a foot from him. “Do not insult him!” she yelled. “He is a great man who taught me everything I know. I’ll demonstrate if you like,” her right hand flared with fire but Solas didn’t move.

“Don’t be foolish, Da’len,” he replied only infuriating her more.

“Stop calling me that!” she roared in his face and brought her flamed hand up but he caught her hand channeling magic through it to douse the flame.

“I told you, do not be a fool, child. You are no match for me so rein in your temper,” he warned and felt the sting from her other hand as it slapped across his right cheek. Solas didn’t like that, his patience only went so far and she was dangerously close to finding the end of it. He snatched up the other hand and gripped it tightly. “I told you to rein in your temper.”

“Then let me go,” she struggled but his grip was solid and he was channeling something that blocked her magic.

“That depends on your mother, Child,” he said and she locked eyes with him. It dawned on Bree in that moment. He wanted to use her as bargaining chip, he wanted the Relic and she was the key to getting it.

 _“Son of a bitch,”_ she cursed to herself. There was nothing she could do to stop whatever he wanted to do, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do but she knew she probably wasn’t going to like it. “This is what you do? You ransom little girls when you can’t get to their mothers.”

Solas growled and released her allowing her to back off. “Careful, Child.”

“Or what? You’ll kidnap me? Kill my friends? Throw me in a dungeon?” she spat back, her tone flippant. “Oh, wait, _Fen’Harel_ , you’ve done that already.” Solas let her tirade continue. “You want to know what my mother told me about you, because she told me a lot about you…not always to me some of it I overheard from my father and Michel.” Bree’s calm demeanor had evaporated and left only anger. “You were the one who started it all. You almost destroyed the world because you woke up to a world you didn’t like. How _childish_. Then you nearly killed my mother, broke her heart twice, but not before taking her arm as a parting gift. How gallant of you.”

Everything she was spitting at him was completely true but that didn’t make it feel any better. “That’s enough,” Solas warned.

“Not hardly,” she snarled in return. “You’re a murderer-…”

Solas snarled forward in anger. “Silence, Child, you’ve made your point,” he was inches from her face but Bree held her ground. “I love your mother and leaving her was the hardest thing I ever had to do. You know nothing about it so do not judge me for it.”

Bree didn’t care, she’d seen her mother crying, listened to what she’d said to her father and to Michel. It didn’t matter that Solas still loved her, it mattered that in spite of that he still wanted to destroy the world with everyone in it.

**

Nearly a week has passed and still no sign of Bree, the contingent of Orlesian chevaliers had grown considerably, and Jean returned to Skyhold with Etienne and handful more. Etienne argued that Bree wasn’t in Skyhold and that returning to the fortress wasn’t going to help find her but something told Jean to return. Etienne was immediately well received, he was handsome, and young with a dashing smile, and he appeared to be Jean’s right hand. At over six foot with the same broad build as the Prince, girls giggled and whispered as they passed.

The majority of his army was looking for Bree and the one who attacked them. His father also, Gaspard had joined the search but still nothing. There had been no sign of her; Orlais was efficient when they put their minds to it and had conducted a methodical search but she was still nowhere to be found.

Jean was growing impatient; he was dangerous when he was impatient. He’d learned to temper it with the Chevaliers, years and years of them not caring that he was the heir of Orlais taught him that impatience got people killed. His father was the greatest Chevalier that ever lived because he was smart and patient. It was a hard lesson to learn and once in a while Jean’s natural tendency toward impatience returned.

Khrys tossed and turned in the bed to the point it woke Michel. “Khrys,” he said trying to wake her from the dream that had her in its grip. “Khrys, wake up, love.”

She didn’t respond, the dream had her. _She stood in the remains of a broken temple or a tower, she wasn’t sure which. She’d never seen it before and it was unremarkable. It occurred to her that she wasn’t sure why she was dreaming of this place if she’d never seen it or been there._

_“Hello, Vhenan.” An all too familiar voice said and she turned toward it. There he was, Solas, the literal man of her dreams._

_“Solas,” she breathed out like she’d seen a ghost. Part of her wanted to kill him and another part of her wanted to kiss him. After 15 years it would be a kiss that could melt the world but she didn’t. Even in the Fade the notion to kill him for everything he had done was as overwhelming as they came. Solas looked exactly the same, he wasn’t in armor just the tan and green robes she’d always seen him wear._

_Solas took in the sight of her. She was in her night gown, penalty of pulling her from where she was last, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. “You look beautiful,” he said and for a fleeting moment Khrys blushed, then realized that he had pulled her here. He wanted her here for a reason._

_“Where is my daughter?” she demanded._

_Solas knew that he wasn’t going to get anything else from her and that wasn’t his purpose, his purpose was to deliver a message not try to rekindle a romance that had died a horrible death years before. “Come here, alone, and we can discuss your daughter. She is unharmed and will remain that way.”_

_“Where? Why did you take her?” she asked and stepped to him, almost close enough to touch him. She had to force herself not to._

_“When you wake you will know, Vhenan,” he said and gently touched her face, it may have been the Fade but it was still her. He loved her but it wasn’t meant to be…he nearly gave it all up in that cove for her but in all honesty she wasn’t enough to make him abandon his path, as painful as that was and he would never tell her that to her face. “Come alone and we will discuss this further.” In a flash he was gone and the tower was gone._

Khrys sat up sharply with a gasp. “Solas!”

Michel caught her in his arms. “Hey. Hey, love,” he soothed and she blinked the Fade dream away. She could see Michel in the firelight and closed her eyes thankful to be back in the real world with him. “Can’t say I like the idea of hearing you call his name when you wake up from a particularly disturbing dream.”

Khrys found the humor and laughed lightly. “He wants to talk to me,” she said and shivered in the cold air. What Solas said was correct; she could see the tower in her head. “I need a map.”

She jumped out of bed and scurried out leaving Michel a little confused. “Khrys. Khrys, wait! What happened?”

Michel grabbed a shirt and her robe as he followed her down the steps. Skyhold was sleeping in the middle of the night as Khrys jogged to the War Table. Michel had managed to put a shirt on as he followed her but the stone floor froze his feet, he should have thought to grab his boots. He handed her the robe as she flipped through Cullen’s maps.

“Here,” she said pointing to a map of the Free Marches. “This is it.”

“There’s nothing there but fields,” Michel said and Khrys grunted.

“Well, there’s something there…and he has my daughter so I’m going to find her,” she told him. “Bring me Cullen, Fenris, Cole, the Prince, and Malcolm.”

**

Rousted from bed in the middle of the night, most arrived looking disheveled and tired. Malcolm’s shirt was open, his hair was a mess and his boots were untied. Cullen was practiced at the notion of being awoken in the middle of the night and looked far better, though not as proper as he usually was. Jean looked about as proper as any man could be, pulled from bed after a restless night of sleep. No matter, he still looked like a Prince in his white shirt, black pants, and thigh high riding boots. His guard, who was uninvited but came anyway, looked a little less proper. Much like Malcolm, Etienne looked as if he’d gotten dressed on the way down the stairs.

Etienne yawned as the group assembled at the same time Malcolm did. Cullen glared at the both of them.

“I am not letting you go alone, I don’t care what he said.” They heard Michel say.

“Michel-…”

Michel had made the mistake of leaving her once and someone tried to kill her so her plan to go and meet Solas alone did not please him. “No. I’m not letting you go alone, Khrys.”

Khrys sighed heavily, her love for him was deep but he was relentless and downright aggravating sometimes. “I don’t have time to argue about this, Vhenan.”

Michel’s tone lowered reflecting that he wasn’t kidding. “Make time,” Michel forced and Khrys glowered at her tall Orlesian lover.

The Prince grumbled, annoyed and impatient. “You know where Bree is?” Jean spoke up, uninterested in the argument that was going on. His main focus was to find Bree.

His voice stopped the debate between Michel and Khrys but briefly. “I have an idea on that,” she replied motioned for the Templars.

Michel was generally very quiet and reserved but when it came to Khrys he’d stand and fight in an argument with her. “In a minute; Khrys, don’t change the subject. I am not letting you go and meet Solas alone,” Michel pressed and Khrys grumbled, he was over protective of her and she could understand why. When she spoke to protest Michel actually raised his voice. “This is not up for debate.”

“I’ll go with her,” Malcolm spoke up and Michel gave him a look and shook his head.

“ _I_ will.”

“Michel, I need you here,” she shook her head and saw the look in his eye. “With Dorian in Tevinter, I need you here if something goes wrong. Please, love, I’ll take Malcolm with me.”

Michel didn’t like it but before he protested more the Prince spoke up. “I apologize for the interruption but my priority is your daughter, not who is going to protect you, Inquisitor,” he said, his tone was polite but strained. He may have been young and not yet Emperor but he did act like one. Jean’s patience was razor thin and Etienne could see it. He was in love and it wasn’t in Jean’s character to stand by and quibble over who got to go where. Make the plan and carry it out.

Michel nearly smiled proud that the Prince was thinking of nothing but Bree but also felt a rise of anger as well. Khrys was every bit as important as Bree though he understood the Prince’s point. He didn’t say anything and then looked over at Khrys who looked equally angry. “Be careful, your Highness,” she hissed back but tempered her anger when Declan entered and focused on why she sent for one of her Templars. “Fenris. Cole. You two and Declan will take Bree’s phylactery and track her to wherever she is.”

Jean looked confused and glanced at Etienne who was as confused as he was. Since the circles were dismantled phylacteries were burned or destroyed. It caused a major issue with Chantry and the people but since the mages were no longer under the thumb of the Chantry there was no longer a need for them. “Phylactery?”

“Yes, all the mages in Skyhold have phylacteries, even me,” she replied and Fenris acknowledged her order. “Track her to wherever she is and bring her back.” Khrys would love nothing more than to send Michel, a man she loved and trusted more than Dorian but she couldn’t risk leaving Skyhold without a leader if something went wrong. Fenris and Cole she knew would carry out the mission and were unique enough to handle all that would be thrown at them.

Jean stepped forward. “I’ll go too.” Etienne moved to protest but was silenced before he spoke with a wave of Jean’s hand. His Prince was annoyed and the black haired Chevalier fell silent. “I failed to protect her and I will make it right.”

The entire room appreciated the gesture and they all looked to the Inquisitor. “We can’t risk your safety, Highness,” Khrys said shaking her head.

He remembered his manners, barely. “I don’t care about my safety, Inquisitor. I wish to find your daughter,” he said and his tone showed that he wasn’t kidding.

“Highness-…,” Khrys began and the Prince took another step toward her.

“You cannot stop me. I am going with or without your permission,” he told her and she knew that she couldn’t stop him and that she really shouldn’t stop him. The Prince would be a tremendous ally and it was best not to anger him.

Khrys gave it a long thought and then nodded. “Fine,” she nodded and turned to Fenris, her best agent and loyal guard. “Bring my daughter back to me, Fenris.” The lyrium warrior nodded, silent as he always was. He and Cole were a devastating pair, Declan was her best Templar, and the Prince…the Prince loved her daughter…that much was evident.

“While they track Bree, Malcolm and I will go and meet Solas.” He’d told her to come alone and that made Malcolm a good companion choice since he was very good at disappearing into the shadows and skilled in the art of deception.

“And what if she’s with him?” Cullen asked and Khrys shrugged, she’d thought of that.

“Then I’ll have backup…when they all arrive,” she replied gesturing to the troupe that was being sent for Bree. Michel wasn’t necessarily comfortable with that, she was taking a gamble but she was right about having backup if everything went sideways. Malcolm alone was worth ten men but even still…he’d feel better if he could be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	18. Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a big one. What can I say, Dorian and Balian are my favorites. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I'm actually quite proud of it. I did listen to some specific songs while working on this: Sound of Silence by Disturbed, My Last Breath and Taking Over Me by Evanescence. 
> 
> Please enjoy and by all means leave feedback.

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

Chapter Eighteen: Tevinter

 

It was official…Balian hated Tevinter. Everywhere he went people sneered or didn’t look at him at all. People gasped and scurried from Bull, a Qunari in Tevinter wasn’t common but once in a while they saw some Tal’Vashoth. Bull couldn’t care less about the people around him; he kept his eyes on them since he never dropped his guard around the ‘Vints’.

They looked right through Balian or sneered and whispered about his vallaslin, he was used to the whispering and murmurs so that was easy enough to ignore. What he had a hard time ignoring was the looks, like he was worthless…less than nothing…a slave. It put his hackles up…permanently.

For the most part, travel was simple. To the outside observer it was a Magister traveling with two slaves or two mercenaries depending on who was asked. Balian was having a rough time doing as Dorian had asked, controlling his temper. The first town they came to nearly resulted in disaster. Balian witnessed a slave girl being abused and reacted poorly.

“Balian,” Dorian warned as his lover stalked toward the display of abuse.

Balian ignored him, the girl shrieked again as her master hit her again. “Let her go,” he ordered as the girl cowered but didn’t look surprised to the abuse.

The old shop keeper paused upon Balian’s order looking bewildered at someone telling him what to do. “Mind your own business, Knife Ear,” he spat and raised his hand to hit her again like he wasn’t even there.

Balian caught his wrist with his right hand, gripped his throat with his left, and drove him back into the wall with a fierce glare. “You hit that girl again and I’ll kill you.”

“Balian!” Dorian barked. He was all for Balian kicking the crap out of that guy, but Knight or not, he could be executed for interfering. “Let him be.”

“Get your slave off me!” the man yelled and infuriated the elf more.

“I am not a slave!” he snarled back.

Dorian could see they were attracting attention and so could Bull. “Balian, let him go. Now.”

Balian flinched, he didn’t understand how Dorian could let this happen and he was torn with beating this man to a bloody pulp and not getting themselves arrested for something that was legal in Tevinter. “Dorian-…”

“Let him go. There’s nothing you can do.” Dorian saw Balian wrestle with it. Balian was a good man and didn’t understand Tevinter. It took all of the elf’s self-control to do what was asked but he did it and threw the man to the side before storming away.

“Let’s go before he gets us killed,” Bull mumured to Dorian. Dorian grumbled, as much as it irritated him he was right but so was Balian. His country was disgusting.

They narrowly escaped the authorities and for the rest of the trip to Vyrantium, Balian was sullen and silent. He hated Tevinter and Dorian could see it.

**

Dorian leaned over the side of the ship as his stomach turned, he really hated sailing. He groaned and put his forehead on the railing closing his eyes wishing his nausea would pass. Bull was right about taking a ship from Vyrantium to Minrathous, it was faster and Dorian suffered through it as quietly as he was able.

“You alright?” Balian asked as he appeared next to Dorian.

Dorian didn’t need to look or hear his voice to know he was there. He moaned his answer obviously uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he lied, he’d survive it just would be comfortable. “I hate sailing.”

Balian felt for him, he’d never been seasick a day in his life but no one liked vomiting. “I know you do.” He said and fished around in the satchel on his belt, the one he carried his potions and herbs in, and came up with a vial of liquid. “Here, drink this,” he said offering him the vial.

Dorian didn’t pick his head up but looked over at the vial being offered to him. “Looks terrible,” he muttered.

Balian chuckled. “Just drink it.”

He took it and drank it down in one gulp, his face twisted to its awful taste. “And it tastes terrible,” he complained with a shudder as he choked it down.

Balian couldn’t argue with that and took the vial back to reuse it later. “Not arguing that,” he said. “But it cures nausea, should make you feel better.”

Balian was correct; his stomach was starting to settle. “You don’t get seasick, why do you need that?”

“Because it cures hangovers too.”

Just from the taste, Dorian thought he was going to vomit again but managed not to. “Drink that much in Starkhaven, do you?”

Not as much as Dorian thought and he shrugged. “Not too much else to do on my off days,” he replied. “Feel better?”

He did and Dorian was surprised, whatever was in the vial worked like a charm. “Yes, actually…what’s in that?”

“Herbalist in Starkhaven is very good at his job,” he replied with a smile. “If Sebastian needs me and I’m too far gone to function this puts me right again.”

Dorian harrumphed at that explanation but was grateful for the help. “Thank you, Amatus,” he smiled and moved closer to kiss him but Balian put a hand up to stop him.

“You’re welcome, Vhenan, but you are not kissing me until you wash your mouth out.”

Dorian couldn’t blame him but his expression shifted to a smirk. “Didn’t have a problem with other things earlier.”

Balian blushed but the other thing was better than left over vomit. “Ass.”

Dorian spotted his blushing and giggled. “Yes please,” he grinned.

More blushing. “Fuck you,” he said but that was a poor choice of words that Dorian seized.

“Even better,” he smirked.

Balian playfully punched his shoulder. “Dirty old man.”

Dorian smiled, surly and complicated or not he loved that elf.

**

Minrathous was a sight; it was the biggest city that Balian had ever seen. The biggest city in all of Thedas and it occupied an entire island all its own. It appeared on the horizon and soon it filled his view. Ships were in dock, gulls flooded the sky, they weren’t even on land yet and there were already a lot of people. Balian tugged on his gloves while glancing to Dorian. He looked nervous, antsy actually.

“You alright?” he asked and Dorian scoffed.

“Oh, thrilled,” he responded dryly. “When I left all those years ago, I couldn’t wait to go back. Southern Thedas was…is so barbaric. Every time I come back…I can’t wait to leave…just not me anymore I guess.”

“You grew up,” Balian said and Dorian gave him a half smile. “Outgrew the pettiness, became a father.”

Balian had no idea how right he was. “You’ll hate it here,” Dorian said truthfully and Balian remained silent. “Just don’t play into their game. They’ll treat you worse than anyone ever has.”

Balian remained silent as the ship docked. He already knew that Tevinter was nothing that he’d ever experienced and it was worse than anything he’d ever thought of. On the island, Minrathous was a walled city and it extended far along the rocky beach beyond his sight. A heavily guarded bridge connected it to the mainland.

Bull, Dorian, and Balian offloaded the horses and moved off the docks. Balian stared at the towering curtain wall that was bigger than anything that he’d ever seen; only Fort Drakon came close. “Creators,” he said through an astonished breath.

“Just wait until you see inside the wall,” Dorian smiled. Minrathous may be morally corrupt but it was a magnificent city.

Docks not on the island stretched far along the coastline and were protected by the sentry posts on either side of the bridge. The center part of the city was protected by the curtain wall, probably the oldest part of the city, but a second wall ringed the main wall. It was shorter and protected what Dorian referred to as the middle class; high end merchants, middle class homes, military officers, etc. That wall encompassed the majority of the city, outside of that were the slums unprotected by any wall bigger than a stone fence. In all of history Minrathous had never been breached, now Balian could see why. Located on an island with walls and the only way across was over a guarded bridge. Minrathous was perfectly strategic.

**

They didn’t go across the bridge, but instead headed a little further north and away from the coast for about half an hour. Dorian let out a long sigh as they approached the manor. The villa was beautiful. It was big but very tasteful, built in the shape of a U with a wall and a gate leading in. The grounds outside the gate were well kept and undoubtedly tended to everyday.

“What’s this place?” Bull asked.

Dorian groaned before answering. “Home.” One of them anyway, Dorian’s family was from Qarinus but since his father had a seat in the Magisterium, from time to time they lived in both places.

Bull and Balian looked at each other and then at Dorian. “Home?” Bull questioned.

“This is the Minrathous house. Mother has been living here for the last ten years or so,” he answered.

Balian was looking over the people that were working on the grounds but his attention shot to Dorian when he said that his mother was living here. “I’m going to meet your mother?” he asked sharply halting his horse.

Dorian cracked a smile at Balian’s tone. “Oh, she’ll like you,” he said and urged his mare forward. Biscuit turned sideways eager to follow but Balian held him back now very apprehensive about this.

“Still glad you came?” Bull asked and heard the elf make a derisive noise.

The villa was big and Dorian had called this a smaller one, the home in Qarinus was twice the size. When they entered the gate the road turned out to be circle that outlined a great and beautiful garden in the center of the courtyard. To the left were the stables and it occupied the entire wing, in the middle and to the right was the house in the shape of an L. The architecture was common for Tevinter; stone pillars, columns, and a clay tile roof.

“Master Dorian,” a woman called sounding surprised, “we had no idea you were coming.”

The party dismounted and Dorian turned to the older woman coming toward them. She was in her 60s with a full head of grey hair. “Atia,” he greeted happily and actually gave the woman a hug. Bull and Balian looked at each other curiously then back to the two of them. “Balian, Iron Bull, this is Atia. This woman practically raised me.”

“So, you’re to blame,” Bull commented with a chuckle.

Dorian closed his eyes and cursed under his breath but Atia only laughed. “That I am,” she replied sound like she’d accepted the challenge Bull had thrown. “He complained a bit but I whipped him into shape.” She said and looked to Balian. The elf had said nothing only a nod when he introduced them. “So you are the Balian,” she smiled. “Dorian was right, you are very handsome.”

Balian blushed. “He’s bias,” he replied unaware Dorian had told anyone in his family about him. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Is mother here?” Dorian asked but his question was answered with the sound of her voice.

Aquinea Thalrassian was very beautiful; she was 5’5”, had long black curly hair that was streaked with grey, and brown eyes. “Atia, prepare the rooms, food, and drink for our guests,” she ordered as she approached them making the old woman bow quickly and hurry away. His mother looked the group over collectively but turned her attention to her son. “Dorian,” she greeted. The tone was chilly but there was still the motherly air about it. Their relationship had deteriorated when Dorian refused to allow her to meet her granddaughter. He offered for her to come to Skyhold largely at Khrys’ suggestion but his mother was just as stubborn as he was.

“Hello, Mother,” he returned and kissed her cheek.

“Did you bring my granddaughter?” she asked and Dorian glowered tiredly.

“No,” he answered. “You have an open invitation to Skyhold.” Her impassive face was nothing new to Dorian and he ignored it. “May I introduce Iron Bull of the Chargers and Ser Balian Lavellan of Starkhaven.” Aquinea gave a tentative nod to the Qunari and then to the scarred Elf she blinked before giving him the same tentative nod.

She wasn’t sure how to feel at having a Qunari and an Elf as houseguests but she looked at her son and nodded. “Well, should be an interesting dinner.” She said finally. “Come, let the stable master tend the horses.”

“You come unannounced and you bring your Elf with you?”

Dorian’s expression was flat. “Ahh, yes… the Elf he also tends to go by Balian…he’s funny that way.”

“Always the glib tongue,” she sighed. “I do hope Gabriella didn’t inherit that.”

Dorian huffed, he was tired and in no mood to fence with her. “Mother, we are hungry and it has been a _long_ journey. I’d like meal I don’t have to roast over a fire, a hot bath, and sleep in a bed that’s not swaying or crawling with something.”

Aquinea harrumphed to her son gestured to Atia. “Atia, draw up a bath for our guests and get some clean clothes for them for dinner.”

Balian took in his surroundings as they walked, he was counting people. Attendants, servants, slaves, guards, etc. He saw workers, one or two elves but mainly humans. No one appeared timid or scared they all seemed content with life. Balian wasn’t sure how he felt about that, during the entire journey he’s seen slaves from one end of the spectrum to the other. Happy ones and terrified ones, it baffled him.

“I have the girls drawing up a bath for you and your companions now, Dominus,” Atia informed Dorian while lighting the sconces on the walls. “Your friend Iron Bull is in the next room and Ser Balian will be-…”

“He won’t need a room, Atia, he’ll stay here,” Dorian cut in and Balian gave his best deer in the headlight look.

“Of course,” Atia laughed lightly and fluttered from the room closing the door behind her.

Balian took a good look at the surroundings. It was a big room with a pillar bed, colorful drapes, and tapestries, and big windows. “That was…interesting.”

“Just wait until dinner, Amatus, she’d make a wonderful Inquisitor,” Dorian said.

“So your family knows of me?” he asked not really wanting to sit his dirt and sand covered body down on the clean silk bedcovers.

Dorian smiled proudly. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, his father had been, his mother was on the fence but he knew who he was and was proud of it. “Of course they do. Mother stuck her nose up but she really will like you.”

He’d never been in this position before and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. His mother liked Dorian despite of him being a Tevinter Magister, and the clan actually treated him as their own which was a shock to all parties involved. “I’m an _Elf_ , how do you figure that?”

Dorian didn’t like it when he felt like he wasn’t good enough and put a hand on his cheek. “Because _I_ like you. Say what you will about my mother but she cares for those who care for me. That’s why Atia still serves her…she’s not a slave. Mother freed her years ago,” he said and moved away from him.

Balian pulled his gloves off and deposited them on the table; from there he started the process of getting out of his armor. He had it down to a science and could do it alone, it was a little harder but he could do it, but he didn’t have to…Dorian helped. Silverite was hard to tarnish but you could tell that it was dirty and the clothing under it was sweaty and could use a wash.

**

Dorian and Balian had dozed off; it felt good to be in a high quality bed with silks and furs. Balian passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow and Dorian chuckled at that. The elf was exhausted from being hypervigilant as soon as they crossed into Tevinter. The knock on the door startled both of them.

Balian was up with a knife and Dorian gave him an amused, curious expression. “A little edgy, Amatus?” He glared and Dorian grinned. Surly elf and he loved him. The grin on his face made Balian’s glare deepen. It bothered him that Dorian was very casual here even with the obvious danger he was most certainly in. Dorian opened the door and stepped back revealing Atia. “Yes?”

Atia spared the bare-chested elf a glance, his scars were a showstopper but the older woman concentrated on Dorian. “Dominus, you have a guest. She says you are expecting her.”  
Dorian nodded almost certain he knew who it was. “I’ll be down in a moment, thank you,” Balian was already pulling clothes on when Dorian turned to him.

“Lucerni?” Balian inquired.

“So you do listen to me,” Dorian needled with a grin and Balian returned the expression with a smile of his own.

“I hear everything when it comes to you,” he replied and Dorian laughed.

“Now that’s a disturbing thought,” Dorian chuckled as he tied the boots on. The next knock annoyed him. “Yes.”

“Hey,” Bull greeted sticking his head in, “what’s going on?”

“Someone I’ve been expecting is here for a meeting,” Dorian answered and Bull was satisfied with his response.

“Ouch,” Bull commented looking at Balian, who was in the process of getting his shirt pulled on. During all the time they spent on the road Bull hadn’t really seen the full extent of the bear’s damage. Balian was shy, and unlike Bull, liked to keep as many clothes on in public as he could. The elf said nothing in reply and laced the shirt up.

**

Balian and Bull quietly followed Dorian into what looked like a study, the house was quiet and the temperature had cooled considerably but it was still humid. A tall blonde woman greeted them. She was as tall as Dorian with a strong build, blonde hair, the structure of her face seemed more male then female.

“Mae,” Dorian greeted and the she gave him the customary bow. “Maevaris Tilani, Balian Lavellan and Iron Bull.” Quick nods were exchanged as they regarded each other.

“Why are you here?” Mae asked more than a little surprised that Dorian was in Minrathous. She was definitely biologically male; her voice register was not female.

Dorian gave a slight shrug as Mae eyed him critically. “Someone tried to assassinate Khrys and all spies we have point to Tevinter ordering it.”

Mae gave him a single nod but she was clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Right. I never thought you’d be stupid enough to show up yourself.” Balian barely stifled a snort. He had had the same thought on the matter.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed as they tried to keep their voices as low as possible. “What do you know, Mae, what is going on?”

“There is a growing faction through the senate, we don’t have the exact number and we don’t know who the leader is yet, but they want war with the south.”

“Why would they want that? If the Qunari press then they’ll have the entire world to fight,” Balian questioned. The blonde magister shrugged.

“Fanatics don’t always think things through,” she explained to the elf. “From what we know, they have targets on every power in Thedas. Khrys was just the first.”

“We have to find out who’s behind this and stop it. We stopped them from killing Khrys thus helping keep Fereldan and Orlais stable. We don’t need Thedas plunged into chaos,” Dorian said.

“Obvious statement,” she said dryly.

“So what do you know?” Balian asked and the blonde mage looked at him. Odd to see a Dalish Elf within a hundred miles of Tevinter but he was here, tell-tale tattoo and all announcing his heritage to the world.

Mae returned her attention to Dorian. “The Lucerni know it’s within the Magisterium but we don’t know exactly who or how many. It would have to originate from them. They are the only ones that have the power.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “The power for what?”

She sighed heavily. “A coup. To take over the parts of the government, all they need is the Magisterium everyone else will fall in line.”

Dorian thought hard and his face contorted with confusion. To take over the Magisterium would take considerable clout and an ambitious plan. “They’d need major military support.” They would need more than that but gaining enough military control would stop the Magisterium in its tracks.

“Which we think they have but we don’t know who.”

Dorian was growing annoyed. “You must know _something_.”

Another heavy and irritated sigh from Mae. “A few people but no proof. Erris Forlani, Kell Octus, Prisca Cassius, Liani Catari, and that’s just a few _Magisters_ off the top of my head.”

All of them were names that Dorian knew, names he’d heard before, some associated with his father’s murder. “Who, in your opinion?”

She contemplated a moment and then answered. “Prisca Cassius.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. She was a known blood mage, ruthless and conniving. “Her paramour is a General,” he commented and Mae nodded.

“Artus Cicero,” she supplied.

Cicero commanded at least a legion maybe more. That did not bode well. “What else do you now about them?”

“Court gossip but we’re working on the rest.”

Getting half the story was annoying and his shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Care to fill me in?” Balian asked.

Dorian turned to his surly lover. “Prisca Cassius and Artus Cicero are the star-crossed lovers of the Magisterium. She is high upper class and a member of the Magisterium he is a soporati born in the shit slums of Minrathous conscripted into the military and is now the best General in the Imperium. They met 20 years ago…inseparable since. Forbidden to marry.”

Balian scoffed. “Sounds like a romance novel.”

Dorian chuckled. Many romance novels had been written with that premise but they never did the true story justice when it came to them. “Indeed. So where do we begin?”

**

Balian had attended several meetings, soirees, masquerades, and parties but never as a guest…always in an official capacity of some sort, namely as Sebastian’s bodyguard. Now he’d traded one charge for another only Dorian was a whole lot harder to control. The mage dared confrontation and that made Balian nervous, it was for that reason he refused to give up his armor to attend this little party. It took a heated debate to get him to attend without the silverite shell of protection. The compromise was chainmail under the tunic and once again he went the same way he’d attended every other party: as a bodyguard.

As expected the attendees looked at him and Bull with the same eye: complete and utter distain. The scarred Dalish Elf and the giant scarred _Qunari_. Balian was armed, he had to surrender his longsword at the door but he had two knives on him; one in his boot and one up his sleeve. So far the party wasn’t any different than those he’d gone to in Denerim, Starkhaven, and Orlais but he’d learned what to look for there…in Tevinter he wasn’t quite sure. Nearly everyone in the room was dangerous. Nearly everyone in the room was a mage. He didn’t like this one little bit.

The servants, or slaves, flocked to him. He was different, he didn’t belong, but above all he was _polite_ to them. He smiled, said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and even bowed to a pretty flat-ear girl who flushed when she saw him.

“Will you stop flirting with the staff?” Dorian admonished quietly.

“They’re not _staff_ they’re _slaves_ ,” he fired back tightly.

Dorian groaned. “Oh please, not this again.” Balian let it go.

Bull had been to Minrathous before, a few times in fact, and knew how to talk to these people. Granted he’d never been among the elite but they found the Tal’Vashoth as a curiosity. They sneered at him, gave him backhanded insults, and laughed when he brushed them off. When people spoke things were revealed and Bull knew how to listen for information that was important.

Dorian spied the most likely candidates of from across the room. Prisca Cassius was hard to miss even in a crowd of people as best dressed as she was. She had the classic Tevinter features, dark hair, dark eyes, and sun-kissed skin. Her hair was long and braided up elaborately with jeweled berets placed to contrast her black hair. She wore a colorful gown of gold and red and a very stern expression. To her left was a tall, handsome man that Dorian knew immediately. He’d never met Artus Cicero personally but knew him on sight. He was tall, with shaggy dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and dressed in finery of black, gold, and red. Dorian had always found him handsome, very handsome but the General had been Prisca’s for as long as anyone could remember.

Balian tracked who Dorian was looking at and cocked his head slightly. “Wow.”

Dorian snorted. “Which one?” he replied with a laugh. “Prisca Cassius and Artus Cicero…meet the duo that’s probably behind it all,” he added quietly.

“Well, at least he’s handsome,” Balian muttered.

Dorian agreed. “Just control your temper please.” Balian nodded though annoyed that the advice was becoming a bit of a mantra.

It was a dangerous game that Dorian was playing, everyone knew he was a part of the Inquisition, most probably also knew that someone tried to assassinate the Inquisitor, and some probably knew there was a rumor that Tevinter was behind the attempt. Dorian arriving without an army at his back puzzled them. Those that were behind it could strike at will but he seemed fearless. He trusted Mae’s judgement and if she believed Prisca and Cicero were behind this then she was probably right. He approached them feeling like he was about to expose himself to a predator.

“Lord Dorian of House Pavus,” the stunningly beautiful woman began as he appeared in front of her with a dashing smile, “it’s been some time since we’ve seen you.”

Dorian gave her a bow and turned on the bullshit charm. “And you also, Lady Prisca, you look absolutely stunning,” he replied with a fake but convincing smile.

Prisca returned his smile with an equally fake one. Her eyes turned to the stoic and scarred elf standing to his right. “A Dalish Elf?” she questioned and gave him an appraising but not at all friendly look. “Who is your slave, Dorian?”

Balian had stopped getting offended when he was referred to as a slave, it irked him and he didn’t like it but he’d begun to roll his eyes in annoyance. “He’s not my slave. He’s my paramour,” Dorian answered and Balian would have looked surprised had he not noticed the General giving him a critical eye as his apparent lover did the same. “This is Ser Balian Lavellan of Starkhaven.”

“The Champion of Starkhaven,” Cicero said. It had been the first thing he’d uttered yet. His accent was softer than Dorian’s but admittedly delightful. “Sebastian Vael’s famous Champion and bodyguard.” The taller man stepped closer to Balian as if trying to establish dominance. “Somehow I thought you’d be bigger.” Balian didn’t move apart from a head tilt to maintain eye contact with the tall Tevinter General. “Quite the collection of scars, Ser Balian, perhaps you should learn to duck.” Again there was nothing from the elf, baiting him didn’t usually work as Cicero was learning. “Does he speak?”

Dorian sniggered. “On occasion.”

“Elves as Knights? Bah!” Prisca sneered. “Is that was the south does these days?”

Balian actually spoke this time. “There’s one or two of us.” The plain way he addressed her made Dorian smile slightly.

“So he does have a tongue,” Cicero laughed, it was a jovial laugh it was condescension. “I have heard of you, Ser Balian…they call you all manner of things…Balian the Bear, Bearkiller, whatever the Elf one is, Champion, hero…but you’re just an Elf to me. A slave.” Cicero now moved around as he grandstanded at Balian’s expense. He turned his back, unworried about what a man with his reputation could do, called him a slave to his face and smiled about it.

“He’s _not_ a slave, Artus, now I’d stop calling him that before I let him do exactly what he’s thinking,” Dorian warned but that only made Cicero grin.

“Now that’s an idea, My Lord,” he replied and raised his tone for the room to hear. “Who here would like to see the famous Champion of Starkhaven in action?” Cicero managed to make Balian’s highest title sound laughable and the elf was growing annoyed. “The Champion in a point match against me?” The roomful of nobles that was stuffy enough to rival any in Orlais clapped, intrigued by the idea of sport. Half of them probably believed it was a setup, after all, no Dalish Elf could ever hold that type of title. Dorian grumbled as Balian remained silent in the face of such a colossal asshole before him. Pleased with the reaction from the crowd Cicero smiled to Balian. “What do you say, Ser Balian,” he even managed to make Ser sound like a joke, that irked Balian more than being called a slave. “Southern Progression verses Northern Oppression?”

Balian caught sight of Dorian’s sharp headshake and ignored it. “ _Glib motherfucker_ ,” he thought to himself. “Agreed.”

Cicero’s grin widened. “Ser Balian’s longsword!” Cicero called.

Dorian nearly had a kitten. “You intend to fight with real blades?”

“If Ser Balian is half to knight he’s reputed to be he won’t get hurt,” Cicero said and Dorian froze in his tracks with a distinct feeling of déjà vu: Bull’d said those same exact words to him.

“Bail,” Dorian started before the Elf waved him off.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quickly as his sword was brought. It was taken quickly by Cicero who pulled it and examined the fine blade. Balian’s impassive expression hid the fact that he was going to relish kicking the General’s ass.

“A truly well-crafted blade,” Cicero admired. It was the first honest statement he’d made all night. “Perfectly balanced…where did you get it?”

Balian took it from him. “It was a gift,” he answered simply. “First to ten?”

Cicero nodded satisfied with that. “Lethal strikes.” This wasn’t a fight but it wasn’t exactly a sparring contest either. It was a match using real weapons; the object was to obtain a killing blow without landing it. It took skill, a lot of it, to control the weapons, laws of motion, and tempers. One wrong move and someone could be beheaded or skewered. Lethal strikes meant that it couldn’t just be a hit; it had to be a killing blow.

Enough space had been cleared right there on the ballroom floor for them to move around and an audience to gather. “How the hell did this go ass up?” Bull asked quietly and the mage grumbled, glaring at his lover. Balian had legendary patience but if antagonized enough he fought. He cursed in Tevene enough to make Bull chuckle, something about stubborn men and their pride.

Balian eyed his opponent, studied him, took in all the little things he could see. Cicero was taller with a sturdy build, right handed, no scars that he could see, and favored his left leg ever so slightly. _Knee injury? Hip maybe?_ He was a General, a horseman, it could have been anything. The grip on his sword was light meaning he was a well trained professional. He stood with his right side to his opponent. Balian didn’t have his shield so he mirrored the stance.

They attacked at the same time. Balian parried the blow and was in Cicero’s bubble in seconds with a crossguard spike to Cicero’s throat. “One,” the elf said.

Cicero backed off seeming a little perplexed. It had happened so quick his mind hadn’t caught up yet. The General studied him closer ignoring the fact he was an elf. Balian was far smaller than he but with the same build, strange for an elf to be so heavily built. He visibly favored his left arm but it wasn’t necessarily a weakness, a knight with a reputation that he had must have learned to incorporate any weakness he had into his fighting. Just because he favored his arm didn’t mean he going to be easy to beat.

The next attack was initiated by Cicero; it was a straightforward attack that Balian blocked easily. The exchange was quick this time and Balian narrowly avoided having his throat cut as Cicero earned a point. Balian was tense as the blade was far too close for comfort and lingered. Cicero grinned, an unsettling grin, and backed away. The crowd gasped and clapped as Cicero earned another point after Balian over committed. So far the General fought fair and kept to the rules of the game.

Dorian fidgeted on the side but Bull’s looming presence prevented him from outright pacing. Watching Balian spar with Thom, Michel, or even Bull was one thing, they wouldn’t actually hurt him, and Cicero was for all intents and purposes an enemy. A collective gasp from the crowd made him scan the room quickly, Balian’s pommel spike stopped a quarter inch from Cicero’s left temple. They barely parted when it was on again. The Elf was more nimble then his opponent anticipated and he rolled under the strike and came up behind him carefully ensuring that his sword stopped short of slicing his entire back.

It was three to two in favor of Balian, so far no one had lost their cool but it was only a matter of time. Dorian figured that Cicero would lose it first, a General of the Tevinter Imperium being bested by an Elf would definitely not sit well. As the fight progressed to now being tied at five Bull and Dorian both observed the room. Dorian knew the Qunari spy was keeping his eyes open and figured he’d been staring at Prisca the entire time.

“Your paramour looks in good form, Lady,” Dorian complimented moving to stand beside Prisca.

“He always does,” she replied plainly. The blood mage grinned as a particularly long cession ended with Cicero using brute force to knock the elf on his back.

“Still looking for support on becoming the Archon?” he inquired and she looked at him briefly before she continued to watch her lover square off against a savage.

“Still the Inquisitor’s token Magister? I couldn’t help but notice his last name, Lavellan, same as the Inquisitor’s. Decided that the brother was as good as the sister?”

Dorian found that hilarious. That was a running joke in Skyhold that was actually started by Khrys. “Cousin actually and he’s far better,” he smirked.

Prisca ignored him. Dorian’s pariah status was well known and it was well known why he was viewed as such. One he practically defected to the South and two he refused to be the good son who married the girl despite his preference. “You enjoy being a deviant,” she scoffed.

Her tone amused him. “Yes I do. Before you try to pick apart my sex life look at your own, My Dear, a magister of your breeding and caliber falls in love with a soporati from nothing…we are who we are and we fall in love with who we fall in love with.” She said nothing in reply but glared at him before her attention was back on the match.

This round had become a draw, Cicero’s sword at Balian’s throat and Balian’s sword at his inner right thigh. They pushed back from each other; Cicero was starting to get a little frustrated. Balian was still the element of calm and collected. He was going to win this.

The Magister turned her attention to Dorian but looked as bored as she could. “The Tevinter Imperium is the greatest in the world. The south will bend the knee again, Lord Dorian, and soon,” Prisca said and Dorian kept his face impassive.

For as frustrated as Cicero was becoming his attacks were still smooth and controlled, however it wasn’t good enough. Balian had figured him out. Up until the last point which would name Balian the winner and pull off a nice upset in front of scum of Tevinter, Cicero may have been frustrated but his attacks were controlled. After being beaten back to back a few times his control unraveled. Cicero attacked quickly. Balian caught his one handed swing with his left hand, surprising the General with how strong the elf actually was, he then punched him hard cross the jaw before he could swing. Balian staggered back tasting blood in his mouth, he recovered and attacked. Swords echoed though the room and their blades slid down to the handles, their strength being tested.

Cicero kneed him in the stomach trying to break the stalemate but the rumors of how strong he was were not overrated. Balian pressed and succeeded in stripping the sword from Cicero in a swift snap of his wrists letting his spiked crossguard do the work. He backhanded the general, kicked his left leg aiming for whatever injury he’d sustained, and Cicero dropped to one knee. The room was so quiet now that you could hear a pin drop. The elf held the sword to the beaten General’s throat.

“Match,” he said and Cicero acknowledged it.

Bull laughed and clapped but he was the only one, Dorian beamed with pride and gave him a slight bow. The rest of the room wasn’t sure what they’d just seen. How could a fine General like him be defeated by an Elf?

Balian picked up the dragon handle sword that belonged to the general and offered it back. Cicero was not pleased. Not at all but rather than looking like a petulant child he accepted the match for what it was. Balian was good, that much was abundantly clear, but he was still an Elf who beat him. That annoyed him. “Who trained you, Ser Balian?”  
“My father,” Balian answered quickly and Cicero cocked his head. He was thinking anything but that seeing as how he was a bodyguard for a Prince, a Knight, and a renowned Champion. The look from Prisca stopped him from any follow up questions as their swords were handed off and the evening continued.

Servants brought them all drinks before Prisca snapped her fingers. The girl who Balian winked at served him before Dorian, her beaming smile made Balian smile back. Dorian rolled his eyes. “Will you stop that, you tease?” he griped and Balian simply chuckled.

**

They barely made it back to their room in his mother’s villa before they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Dorian loved to watch him fight and the subtle, harmless flirting with the servants at the party gave the illusion that he was competing for him.

“So what did you learn from Prisca?” Balian asked in a satisfied content tone. It wasn’t cold in Tevinter but snuggling under the covers with Dorian felt amazing.

“That she’s the mastermind behind the whole thing…probably plotting to have me killed as we speak,” Dorian replied with the ease of talking about the weather. “What did you learn from the General?”

“That he’s going to be very difficult to beat,” he replied flatly as he lay on his back.

“You beat him,” he said running his fingers over Balian’s strong but scarred chest.

“He underestimated me.”

The elf was modest, he always was. He knew what he was doing and that was why Sebastian never wanted to let him go. “But you still beat him. Why did you do that, by the way? I know you don’t like sparring. Don’t like showing what you can do.”

Like his ill-advised match with Bull his it was all pride and the desire to knock a loud mouth on his ass. “Only way I could shut him up. After the second or third round I knew I could beat him.”

Dorian propped up on his right elbow with a narrowed expression. “Are you saying you toyed with him the whole time?”

The elf chuckled lightly. “No. He knows what he’s doing but like all you Tevinters, he’s overconfident. Cullen will have a hard time with him.”

There was a quick rap on the door and Dorian grumbled loudly. “In all the time I lived here and in all the time since no one’s knocked on the door this damn much. What?” Bull opened the door and stepped in quickly. “What do you want?”

“Figured I’d wait until you two were finished,” he smirked and Dorian rolled his eyes. “That looks cozy.” The enormous Qunari moved to the foot of the bed and put his hands on the soft blankets.

“Iron Bull, don’t you dare,” Dorian’s warning didn’t stop him and Bull flopped down on the foot of the bed. Balian and Dorian barely got their feet out of the way before he landed making the bed creak and groan.

“Lummox,” Dorian hissed as the bed shifted.

“He’s like a giant child,” Balian said and practically kicked Bull in the side of the head as he turned over onto his left away from Dorian.

“Could have invited me in. You know for hospitality purposes,” Bull said with a smirk that Dorian wanted to kick off his face.

“I’m not interested in Qunari,” Balian muttered. He was far more comfortable with giant Qunari at the foot of the bed then Dorian or Bull would have expected. He simply snuggled deeper into his blankets.

“Don’t know what you’re missing,” Bull grinned. “Dorian knows,” Balian lifted his head briefly.

Dorian tinged an embarrassing shade of red. “This is really not a conversation I want to be having _now_.”

“Or ever,” a tired sounding Balian chimed in.

Before they asked again Bull backed off the teasing and shifted to why he actually disturbed them. “So the pretty chick and the general, think this is them?”

“Definitely,” Dorian replied. “She’s always challenged the system, thought the Imperium has gone soft. Wants to return to the expansionism of old, with the conditions in the south as they are, killing Khrys would be the quickest way to unraveling the stability.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Bull agreed. “She’ll probably try to kill you before you can leave.”

“I know,” Dorian replied quietly, he didn’t like being a target.

“I’ll be outside,” Bull said with a nod and slapped what turned out to be Balian’s leg. “You’re up tomorrow.”

**

There were no attempts on Dorian’s life that night or in the morning and Dorian headed out to the Magisterium. Both Bull and Balian were armed and in armor or as close to armor as Bull got. Balian paused as he took in the sight of the Imperial Senate building, it was huge, domed, made of beautiful smooth marble and granite. According to Dorian it was one of the oldest buildings in Minrathous. After taking in the magnitude of the building he continued on. After Dorian had spoken to Mae she managed to get the Chancellor, spokesman of the Magisterium, to call a meeting on such short notice.

They waited to go in and tried to talk Dorian out of his chosen approach to the situation.

“I don’t think coming out swinging is going to be the best way to go here,” Balian commented and Bull very much agreed.

“I agree with Wyvern-killer,” Bull said intentionally using the name to needle Balian. The elf rolled his eyes.

Dorian scoffed at that and the eye roll from Balian. “While I’m delighted that you two agree on something besides me and my quirks we don’t have much time. We need to know what is going on. Prisca is behind this, we know that, we don’t know her strength. How many more of the Magisterium does she have on her side? Mae sent me a message this morning saying that Cicero controls not one but two legions…that’s ten thousand men. How much more of the army does he control?”

Balian understood that they needed information but it made him nervous. “So going into the Magisterium and announcing that one of them is a leader of a faction that wants war with all of Thedas is the smartest way to go about that?”

Dorian laughed. It was definitely not the smartest way to go and if Khrys were here she’d be bitching at him for the same reason. “No. But it’ll certainly be fun.”

Balian was now at the glaring stage. “Or suicidal. Dorian…come on, that’s a room full of Mages. My armor’s enchanted but I think they might be a bit much for me.” Bull grunted an agreement.

“Oh, Amatus, no…they won’t attack outright. That’ll be later…probably an assassin,” he replied and patted his love’s arm before heading to the huge doors leading into the Magisterium chamber.

Balian opened his mouth to protest more but Bull cut in. “I’d let it drop, you won’t talk him out of it,” Bull said and Balian grumbled.

“Great.”

They followed him in, the polished marble and granite was unlike anything they’d seen anywhere other than Orlais. This wasn’t the main senate rotunda, this was just for the Magisterium alone but it was still grand. Balian and Bull had never seen anything quite like this. The Winter Palace, Starkhaven, Val Royeaux, Skyhold, Fort Drakon…none of it held a candle to Minrathous.

It was a bit like a coliseum, nearly a full circle of seats sitting on a circular dais that went high up. The seats were divided between the Circle, the Chantry, and the major houses. They held all the power in Tevinter and could even manipulate the Archon. Balian couldn’t count them all. There were at least a hundred.

The Chancellor was a man about the same age as Dorian. Same general appearance as well with the black hair and tanned skin only he had a full goatee. His name was Erris Forlani, a member of the Circle of Magi and a name that Mae had mentioned as a potential evil doer. “Magister Pavus, it has been some time since you attended. And you’ve brought guests, why is that?” he said in a voice that matched his tall and broad appearance.

“ _Guests?_ A Qunari and an Elf, savages,” Another sneered.

Dorian glanced at Balian and Bull, both remained impassive. Balian looked better than he’d ever thought, a gleaming Knight, polished armor, clothes pristine thanks to Atia, he wasn’t a savage and by now word had spread about his handiwork with Cicero. “Ahh, well, the _savages_ are here to make sure I leave the same way I came in: in one piece,” Dorian said.

Erris stiffened and sighed heavily as he glanced back to his fellow Magisters. Erris was new at being the Chancellor but he had a quality about him. He was very level-headed. “You requested this meeting.”

Dorian sighed before he continued. “The Inquisition knows that Tevinter wants nothing to do them. I’m the pariah which is why you gave me the position as Ambassador. To get me out of your hair and make it seem like you have a vested interest in the rest of the world but now it seems that all fingers point to the Imperium for the attempted assassination of the Inquisitor.”

Murmurs grew louder through the magisterium. “Are you accusing the Imperium of trying to kill the Inquisitor?” Erris asked holding up his hand to silence the room.

Dorian smirked, an expression that made Prisca visibly sneer from her seat. “I’m accusing the Magisterium of ordering it,” he corrected confidently.

That sparked an outrage, loud murmuring, yelling, and squabbling between one another. “By our reports the so called assassin is dead. Killed in the act. How would you know where he came from?”

“Because the Inquisition is not stupid. We’re an _inquisitive_ lot,” he replied then lowered his voice to a growl. “And I know a Tevinter assassin when I see one.”

Prisca stood, outraged by his accusation. “You dare accuse us? We had nothing to do with it, southern Thedas can fall into the sea. Why would the Magisterium care to assassinate a figure head for the backwater chantry military arm?”

That was the question of the hour. Why would they want to assassinate her? Bull’s reasoning was very astute but it was still a mystery. “Because you yourself said that southern Thedas would once again kneel before the Imperium, who stands the most to gain from southern Thedas in chaos?”

“You bastard! Traitor!” Another magister yelled. Dorian recognized him but couldn’t remember his name. “Seize him!” Guards stepped from their place and Balian drew his sword ready to defend.

“Stop!” Erris barked and the room went silent. The guards stopped and then stepped back.

Dorian seemed unworried about the guards, as a mage he could take them out easily enough but Balian would never let them get close. “I am not a traitor, I never have been. Some of you conspired to have my father murdered and yet I stay. I am here now trying to find out which one of you insane bastards is trying to plunge the world into more war and get this nation destroyed by either southern Thedas or the Qunari.”

“You have overstayed your welcome, Magister Pavus. I would suggest you leave before you offend more of us and I detain you, your Qunari, and your Elf,” Erris advised calmly. If he was involved in the conspiracy he wasn’t letting on. “I extend you this offer once because of your role against Corypheus. Leave now. Leave Minrathous. Leave Tevinter.”

**

A tactical retreat was the order of the day. Dorian had effectively pissed off the Magisterium but they were allowed to leave unopposed. Balian didn’t like it, not because he had to run away but because everywhere he looked was a potential enemy.

Too many people on the road unnerved Balian. Even with Bull, a Qunari in Tevinter, Balian was still the one no one knew what to do with. Fully armored Dalish Elf, he didn’t carry himself like a slave, he looked people in the eye and stood his ground. He was not a slave and everyone could see it but he felt best with his helm on. No one knew, people didn’t eyeball him they focused more on Bull.

The road cleared some but there was still a ton of fishermen, merchants, and people in general rushing to get everything done before the day ended. They came to a stop waiting for a knot of people to pass. Bull and Dorian chatted about something he couldn’t really hear through the silverite helm. Across the road something caught his eye. A mounted, masked and hooded archer several paces away on a fine bay horse, leather armor in shades of black and brown…an assassin. He saw him draw up the bow and Balian reacted in seconds.

“Dorian!” Balian barked pressing his right leg into his horse. Biscuit wheeled to the left in front of Dorian causing a holy mess between the three horses as the arrow buried itself into Biscuit’s neck. The big horse squealed in response and Balian barely controlled him as he tried to flee from the pain. Warhorse or not a horse was still a horse. He reared and spun as his master tried to stay in the saddle.

Dorian was quick on the uptake when the panicked horse ran into his creating a domino effect back to Bull’s. He tracked the arrow and unleased a blast of fire. The archer’s horse reared and panicked at the fire that was too close for comfort. The bowman hit the ground and a hard crack was heard. The bow broke when he landed on it. Bull gave chase and the archer ran. The qunari got to him and dismounted from his enormous horse grabbing the man by the back of his tunic. Despite being grabbed and manhandled by a qunari the archer fought. He came up with a knife catching Bull in the neck. Bull dropped him and his hand went to his neck.

Balian gathered Biscuit finally and wheeled the very irritated horse in time to see what happened with Bull. He pulled his knife, flipped it around and threw it. The weapon went exactly where he wanted it to go and the man dropped.

Dorian got there and promptly dismounted to tend to Bull. The qunari batted him away and the mage looked down. “Damnit!” he cursed as the masked man twitched while bleeding out. “Don’t Elves know how to take prisoners?”

Balian didn’t answer and his expression was hidden behind his helm. Dorian didn’t really need an answer to that since he knew that Elves may have but Balian apparently didn’t when people he loved were threatened. The knife he threw was lodged in his throat which was a good throw from six paces away on a horse that was not in the least bit happy.

Bull let Dorian heal his neck and then kicked the assassin over onto his back. “Efficient,” Bull said as he pulled the knife from his throat in a sickening sound. “But the goal is information.”

Balian had dismounted but his horse wasn’t settled. “Alright, fine,” the elf huffed. “Next one I’ll let kill him and we can question him after,” he sniped and returned his attention to his horse. The arrow hit in the muscle right in the center of the big horse’s neck. Nothing vital. Biscuit leaned away from him snorting nervously. The arrow was in a good several inches. “Bull, what kind of point?”

There was a pause as the Qunari pulled a shaft from the quiver. “Bodkin,” he replied and tossed the arrow aside.

Bodkin was all penetration but at least it wouldn’t do too much damage on the way out. He held his horse and quickly pulled it out managing to keep his horse semi-calm. Balian sniffed the arrow, made a face and threw it with an Elven curse. “Magebane.”

Dorian joined him as the arrow hit the ground, it was definitely meant for him and once again Balian proved why Sebastian never wanted to let him go. He was very good as a bodyguard. “It shouldn’t hurt him. I can try to heal it,” Balian patted the nervous horse.

Bull searched him. “Just like the other…no missives, no papers, looks the same as the other one though.”

“We need to get out of here. Get on a boat and get back to Skyhold,” Balian said and Dorian turned slightly. “I do not want to be detained by Tevinter.”

“This is too quick to be from the Magisterium this is in response to last night,” Bull deduced and they were both inclined to agree. Balian’s worry was not unfounded; they just needed to leave for two reasons now.

**

Leaving Mintrathous was a clandestine event. Dorian had effectively unnerved whoever the shot caller was and Balian had already averted one attempt on Dorian. They couldn’t leave fast enough in Balian’s mind, the boat ride across the bay quick but not quick enough in his opinion. They needed to be out of Tevinter quickly. Bull had arranged a ship to depart in the middle of the night to take them back across the bay to Vyrantium. Even on the boat Balian didn’t relax, probably wouldn’t until they got back to Skyhold.

The child crying in the middle of the road sent up warnings for Balian and he glanced back at Bull. “Stay here,” he ordered and edged Biscuit forward surveying the road. “You alright, Kid?” he asked and the little girl looked up at him. She was filthy, covered in dirt, now mud from the tears and he dismounted leaving his heavy shield still in its keeper on Biscuit’s left flank. He pushed the big horse back and as soon as he did so he recognized his mistake. Almost a dozen men came out of the trees and the child ran away. The elf cursed, how could he be so stupid?

“You must be Ser Balian.” The apparent leader taunted as he sized him up. “A Knife-Ear as a Knight…guess he wasn’t lying, boys,” he said in a tone loud enough for most of his companions to hear. “But you did beat the boss…so I’ll be taking your sword after we string you up.”

This was a hit and Balian cursed to himself as he shifted his position slightly putting his right foot forward and hand right hand on the handle of his sword. The man before him was flanked by two other men, only one was in heavy armor, military armor. “Move aside,” Balian ordered calmly.

The man returned his order with a crooked, unsettling smile. “No.”

In a flash Balian drew, his blade exploded from his side and he hit three of them in the first swing. The first two had been deflected by their armor but the third hit did damage. The blade caught him just under the chin cleanly slicing his throat. Blood sprayed onto him and now the fight was on.

He heard magic behind him but focused on those before him, as badly as he wanted to make sure Dorian was okay he had to trust that Bull was there and that Dorian could take care of himself. He was fighting without his shield and against a trained military officer. He broke Balian’s guard in a hefty swing but his left pauldron deflected it with a hard metal to metal sound. Balian still felt the hit jar his once broken left collarbone but his armor did its job and the fact that the hit didn’t penetrate was a fatal mistake for the officer. Balian roared as he drove the spiked crossguard under his chin and through his windpipe. It was a gruesome way to go and he gurgled up blood before dropping to the ground. He killed the next man easily, one perfect swing decapitated him. Behind him was a major scuffle. Bull had dismounted and cleaved a few people in two, Dorian he didn’t see but he saw the magic.

The bolt hit him in the chest and he felt it pierce into his body, his breath left him like he’d been punched in the gut. In the midst of a fight time slowed for him and he looked down at the bolt in his chest. He staggered and came back to reality. He swung the sword and killed the man to his right. He focused past the shock and pain pushing the fight. It hurt to move his left arm, hurt to breathe also but he pressed. He blocked an attack and delivered a decisive lethal strike into the side of the neck. He felt the pain radiating through his chest and almost lost his balance.

The second bolt hit and he fell to one knee tasting metal in his mouth, he coughed and blood burst from his mouth. He still had his sword and he steadied himself with his left hand, the breath he took in sounded bad. He tried to stand but couldn’t and wound up driving one of the spikes on the crossguard of his sword into the dirt. The strength in him left and he collapsed on his left.

Dorian saw Balian go down, the crossbow bolts punched right through his breastplate. Rage ignited in him and he tracked the archer stalking forward with flame in his right hand. The steady stream of flame toasted the archer in an agonizing scream. The enraged mage killed the other remaining attacker quickly with a fiery bomb taking out a huge swath of the road and spooking all the horses.

“Balian!” It was Bull who appeared over him first. Then Dorian crashed in looking panicked.

“Oh, no, Bail, no.” he said sounding more like a plea.

“They’re deep.” The quanari informed, pulling them out could cause more harm than good but Balian had a chance, Dorian could heal. Bull ripped the first bolt out and Balian screamed, with that scream came blood both from the wound and from the elf’s mouth. The second one was worse, more blood and a gargle noise from Balian.

The look on his face scared Dorian, Balian was terrified. He kept spitting up blood until it was all over his face, armor, and Dorian. The mage’s right hand glowed with creation magic hovering over Balian’s chest, the wound was mortal and Dorian would be lucky to heal this. Malcolm could heal it; he wished the spirit healer was here. “Damnit!” Dorian cursed. “It’s not working.”

Balian could feel his life slipping away, like he was in a tunnel, he remembered this feeling. He remembered making peace with his life long ago while bleeding to death in the woods. He wouldn’t make peace this time, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave Dorian. There was nothing he could do; crossbow bolts that could punch through heavy armor like this never left their victims alive. He was dead and he knew it.

“No, no, no, no.” Dorian babbled, his healing spell wasn’t working. He didn’t have enough power or talent with creation magic to stop his lover from dying. “I could use Blood Magic.”

Balian heard that and took a fistful of Dorian’s tunic. “No,” he managed out as more blood escaped his mouth. “Not for me,” he added and coughed more blood. “Not for me.”

Dorian ignored him and pulled the knife from his belt and took the glove of his left hand off with his teeth dropping it immediately. Bull blinked and looked at Dorian. “He said no, Dorian.”

“He’s dying, I don’t care,” Dorian snapped harshly and took a deep breath before slicing his hand palm.

“Dorian,” Bull tried again.

“I’d rather have him alive and angry with me than dead,” the mage snapped. Dorian didn’t practice blood magic but he was a researcher and student of magic. He knew how blood magic worked but had really never practiced it. This was a spell that he knew and he was willing to risk its effects to save him. The air filled with Blood Magic and Bull growled moving away from him, Dorian continued in Tevene casting the spell and using its incantation. The white orbs changed to red as the magic swirled around them.

Balian gasped loudly as the spell worked, Dorian’s skin was buzzing with the blood magic, it felt like ants crawling all over him. Balian knew he was dying but now he was healed. Shocked and angry he looked up at Dorian. “What did you do?” he demanded and tasted all the blood in his mouth. “Dorian, what did you do?”

Blood Magic carried consequences, it traded life for power and while this spell didn’t kill him –or at least not yet- he was weak. It worked. Balian, his love, was alive. That was the last thing he saw and then the world went black.

**

Balian’s hands were shaking violently as he took off his armor. It was a haunting feeling to know that he was seconds from death and was saved by a mage. When the bear nearly killed him he had time to accept his fate while he slowly bled to death. Mary, the merchant who found him, saved him with herbs and poultices. Dorian used Blood Magic and that upset him. Blood was splattered all over his armor and there were two bolt holes in the chest. That was a sickening thought and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He steeled himself and swallowed hard before continuing to remove the blood soaked clothing.

Dorian quietly entered and saw Balian. His chest was covered in blood and it stained his trousers, Dorian felt sick but controlled himself. He nearly lost him. “Bail,” he said and the elf turned sharply like he’d been startled. He was so wired right now it didn’t matter what it was, he’d jump out of his skin and Dorian saw something he didn’t expect, fear. There was dried blood down his chin, on his cheeks, his throat, and down his chest, Dorian wanted to help clean him up and moved to try.

Balian took a startled step back and held up his hands. “No! Don’t touch me.” he said albeit a little more aggressively then he had intended.

Dorian blinked and Balian looked him up and down. Dorian seemed a little ragged, tired, whatever spell he used took something out of him and his once shiny, jet black hair was heavily flecked with grey now. What had he done? What did Dorian sacrifice for him? “Balian-…”

“You used Blood Magic,” the elf growled, anger and fear in his eyes burning through the mage better than any fire.

“I couldn’t lose you, amatus,” Dorian replied. “I’m sorr-…”

“Get out,” Balian snarled cutting Dorian off causing the mage to blink. “Get out!” he barked angrily.

More words died in his mouth and he turned from him. He’d never forget that look of anger and fear in Balian’s eyes, eyes that had once been filled with love. What had he done?

Being kicked out of Balian’s tent was like a kick to the stomach. Dorian made it about 20 feet and felt his stomach buck, he doubled over and wretched out whatever was on his stomach. Either due to the spell he just cast or the fact that he almost lost the man he loved. He collected himself and made his way to the fire away from the tent. Bull’d found the enemy camp and ransacked the hell out if it and decided to make himself at home.

“He told you not to do it,” Bull chastised from the fire. “He told you and you did it anyway.”

Dorian felt the nausea pass and carefully made his way to the fire. The spell took a lot out of him, he’d taken a lyrium potion and it barely scratched the surface. He sat, or rather collapsed down and looked at Bull. “I couldn’t lose him,” he said after a while.

Bull wasn’t stupid. He could see Balian’s reaction a mile away and surprised that Dorian didn’t. “You may well have anyway,” the big qunari said rising to his feet. “Here,” he said passing him a blanket. “You don’t look so good.”

Dorian took the blanket, managed a smile, and unfurled it over himself. “I’ll be fine,” he replied quietly.

Blood Magic unnerved him still but he cared about Dorian, as close as they had been in the past he was certain Dorian would never have done that to save him. “What did you do?”

“I gave him apart of myself.” He answered as his eyes grew heavy. Despite it all his body just wanted to sleep.

**

The next day began earlier than Dorian would have liked, he was still weak but looked better than the night before. Bull was clearly worried about both of them. Balian didn’t say six words to anyone. He just woke up, if he even slept, and tended to the horses. His armor was ruined but he still wore it, it was all he had. He didn’t eat either and was up on Biscuit ready to go before Bull and Dorian were. Dorian wanted to talk to him or at least have Balian say something to him but the elf barely even looked at him. He didn’t relish the idea of climbing up onto his tall mare as he still felt like crap but the idea of walking he relished even less. He sighed heavily and gave it his first attempt. He cursed in Tevene when it didn’t work well.

“Fuck it,” he cursed in frustration and embarrassment. “I’ll walk,” he added patting the black mare’s neck.

Balian grumbled warring with himself and slid off his horse moving over to Dorian swiftly. “Come on,” he said flatly though managing to sound a little irritated.

Dorian shook his head. “I’m fine,” he assured and the elf was visibly irritated.

“Get on the fucking horse,” he snapped. Dorian’s brow furrowed but he let Balian help him into the saddle. He started to say something but before he could get a word out Balian was gone and mounted back on Biscuit with ease.

Dorian’s shoulder fell, he’d lost him. He didn’t urge his horse on to follow Balian and Biscuit. “Just give him some time,” Bull said as he pulled Asaarash up next to him. Dorian took the advice but it didn’t make him feel better so he tapped his heels and the mare moved forward.

Over the next few days it was more of the same Balian was silent and spoke to Bull about the journey. Dorian had gotten better over the last few days but still wasn’t the same. It hurt him that Balian didn’t talk to him unless he had to or sit with him.

Bull stood next to Balian and was quiet for a long set of minutes before speaking. “What’s your problem?” Balian didn’t know the answer to that but he knew what he was referring to. “I know you told him not to, I was there when you said it, but I can count on one hand how many people he’d use Blood Magic to save and I wouldn’t get to five. He saved your life because he couldn’t live without you. So get your head out of your ass and talk to him.”

Balian was at war with himself, he both wanted and didn’t want Dorian and so far the side that was in an uproar was winning. He didn’t have a fear of Blood Magic per say but he knew how dangerous it was. It was that Dorian did it at all that caused the violent collision of feelings he was experiencing right now. Dorian looked up at him but said nothing. He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t talked to him socially in days. He only gave orders and spoke mainly to Bull and he could tell Dorian was hurt.

“I told you not to do it,” he said finally after a long silence and awkward eye contact.

Dorian kept himself in check. He wanted to yell and scream, kiss him and hug him all at the same time. “You may have been prepared to die but I wasn’t prepared to lose you.”

The Elf was irritated, clearly. “I didn’t want to die,” he replied sharply.

“Then why are you so pissed at me? I saved your life?”

“You used blood magic-…” he voice got a little louder than he wanted and curbed it now sounding frustrated. “I told you not to. I didn’t want to die because I didn’t want to leave you like that but I’d rather die then put you in danger which is exactly what blood magic does.”

“I didn’t make a deal with a demon, amatus, I gave you a part of myself,” Dorian explained a little affronted by the idea that one dabble in blood magic would undo him. He was a very strong mage and had never been tempted by demons.

Balian was quiet for a moment as he wasn’t sure what to say. “Will you be okay?” he asked referring to the way Dorian had looked over the past few days.

Dorian nodded. “Yes,” he answered simply and that was the truth. It would take him time to recover but he would be just fine. Balian was satisfied with the answer and Bull was appeased so he walked away with more to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artus Cicero = Jamie Lannister  
> Prisca Cassius = Monica Bellucci  
> ..yes..I have actors for nearly everyone.


	19. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super excited about this chapter. :) I hope y'all enjoy it. Feedback is appreciated. Thank you for the comments and kudos.

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Chapter Nineteen: Justice

Khrys' great Hart was huge, Kyp was a big horse but it seemed as if the great red beast dwarfed him. Tem commanded obedience from the other animals and Kyp was no different. Her only equal was Thom's big Courser, Dragon. The legend said that Hart's and Halla were magical creatures, smarter than horses and the creatures of the wild obeyed them. Most of it was purely myth and legend but witnessing a Hart passing through a forest and hearing the change in the area was enough to make even the most skeptical take note. Khrys was surprised by how quickly Malcolm moved. He was a good choice to bring along since he'd spent most of his time alone. He'd learned how to move quickly without tiring out his horse.

There wasn't much small talk between them, Malcolm understood the focus from Khrys…he wanted to find Bree also. When he found Solas he'd kick his ass. Malcolm didn't talk much anyway. He was always a bit strange but most just attributed that to his secluded upbringing. He scouted as far away from Khrys as he dared but always managed to keep her in sight. It wasn't that the Inquisitor was helpless, she was far from it, the loss of a hand or not she was still a skilled Mage, but the ordeal with the Anchor and Solas did leave her weaker than she ever had been.

They crossed the Waking Sea without much fuss landing in Kirkwall and pressing on quickly. Khrys was surprised at the respect that Malcolm's presence commanded, he was only 17 but as a hooded figure on a giant black Charger he looked like Death.

The Vimmark's were the hardest part, they needed to cut over the mountains to reach the destination and the road was always ripe with raiders, slavers, and bandits. The pair either looked like they weren't worth the trouble or just downright evil because aside from one challenge that Malcolm ended with a wave of his hand no one bothered them. There was something to be said for Sebastian's presence throughout the Free Marches, he kept the peace and the roads clear of the unsavory sort.

The further north they went the more the landscape changed and became a high desert. To the east it was green and fertile but the west was more arid. Malcolm cursed the heat and removed his cloak. Khrys shrugged the heat off, she'd survived the Oasis and the Hissing Wastes, this was nothing. As they continued on the landscape slowly changed to a great wide steppe. Flat in all directions, this was the Minanter Basin.

Malcolm stopped in his tracks on the road, Kyp's ears pricked forward alert to the same thing he was seeing in the distance. "Rider," he said to Khrys and Tem snorted. "Only one…looks like a knight."

Khrys appreciated his observation and was impressed with his good eyesight but she was certain they could handle one lone rider if it came to it. "Let's go," she said and kicked Tem into a canter and Malcolm and Kyp matched them. As they got closer the rider grew more familiar. The horse was a heavy built beautiful dapple grey with black mane, tail, and points. A very flashy and very noticeable horse they'd seen before. The rider was a tall man in what looked like white armor…Khrys realized who it was when they got close enough.

"Sebastian?" she questioned seeing the Starkhaven Prince also in a canter toward them.

Malcolm swore to himself.

"My Lady Herald., he replied giving a bow after he pulled his horse up.

Malcolm edged forward. "What are you doing here?" he asked and his tone made his suspicion clear. It was suspicious that he would be far from Starkhaven without a guard. He drew his right dagger and held it low in an obvious warning. Malcolm didn't trust him and it showed.

Despite what people said about him Sebastian was hard to rattle, his brow furrowed at the very young mage on his guard but ignored the blatant threat. He was not here to harm either of them, he was here to help. "I received a message from Skyhold, Lady Inquisitor," he answered looking past Malcolm to Khrys.

Khrys sighed heavily. She could guess what was in the letter and who it was from. "Damn Michel," she cursed quietly, there was no real venom behind it but she was annoyed. Michel couldn't come along so he sent someone else to guard her.

The Prince smiled. "He loves you a great deal, Lady Inquisitor, can you blame him for wanting to protect you?" Sebastian said and Khrys snorted. Malcolm's guard still hadn't changed and Sebastian, cool as ever, continued to ignore him. "There is no tower, ruin or intact, where you indicated, Khrys."

Khrys was following the instinct Solas told her to heed in the dream. "There's something there."

Sebastian was certain nothing was there but he allowed it, he didn't pretend to understand magic but he was sworn to the Herald no matter what. "Then I will accompany you," he said and Khrys shook her head. He raised his left hand in the Princely way to silence surfs, both Malcom and Khrys bristled. "You are traveling through my land, Lady Inquisitor. I am coming with you."

Malcolm could see the worth and though he didn't trust the Prince with his own life he did with the Inquisitor's, as strange as that sounded. "A good archer can't hurt, Khrys."  
Malcolm put in and then Sebastian cocked his head at the son of his enemy while Malcolm deftly returned the Antivan Slasher to its place on his back.

"Well, I'm glad I have the seal of approval from the teenage son of a terrorist," Sebastian spat back but Malcolm's expression didn't change. He wasn't that easy to bait especially considering that his father really was a terrorist.

Khrys urged Tem forward, if Sebastian wanted to come she wouldn't, couldn't, stop him. "Can you two please behave?" she grumbled as the archer and the mage continued to eye each other before turning to follow.

**

It was a quiet ride and Tem set a swift walking pace. the Hart was tuned to her rider and could feel the unease from Khrys so she moved with purpose. Behind her Malcolm and Sebastian traded looks, glowers really, they'd been quiet but the obvious animosity was there. Malcolm had grown up hearing all the stories about the Prince of Starkhaven, the man who relentlessly hunted his family. It wasn't entirely true of course. Sebastian wanted Anders but often times the bounty hunters tracked the family and created further issues forcing Anders to protect himself and his family.

"So, Malcolm, how is your father?" Sebastian asked but his question was not kind, Malcolm was not his father and really had nothing to do with what happened in Kirkwall. Evelyn and Balian together reminded him that this was about justice for the people that Anders killed not a blood feud.

"Out of your clutches," Malcolm replied his tone plain and unconcerned.

"You're the one responsible for the disappearances of all the bounty hunters?" Sebastian asked and Malcolm gave a half smile.

"Stop sending them then," he smirked. Malcolm's humor mirrored his father and irritated Sebastian but he shrugged.

"I especially enjoyed the letter saying 'better luck next time' sent with the missives from all the ones you've killed," Sebastian rebutted almost chuckling and Malcolm felt proud of himself. "Balian wanted to hunt you down himself for the insult."

Malcolm could care less. Balian was a fine warrior but he was better. "Good thing he didn't, you'd have lost your bodyguard…I actually like him."

Sebastian scoffed and shook his head. "You are as arrogant as your father."

Malcolm shook his head. "No not arrogant, arrogance implies an exaggeration of my self-importance. Knowing that I'm better than your bodyguard is not arrogance."

Sebastian snorted and shook his head, the seventeen year old mage was worse than his father was. Anders irked him in Kirkwall and still did now. "You're a foolish boy."

Malcolm turned Kyp sharply into Sebastian's path and the two stallions pinned their ears at each other. Sebastian's horse was a warhorse and big grey didn't like another horse in such close proximity. Silver nipped at him and Kyp swished his tail in response but remained firmly under his master's command. "Stop sending people after my family and I'll stop burying your bounty hunters all over Fereldan."

He may have been a kid but Malcolm had killed many in defense of his family, Sebastian respected him for that and said nothing as Malcolm turned Kyp from Silver and followed Khrys.

**

Something was nagging at Khrys, her turn for watch had been uneventful but Sebastian and Malcolm needed to sleep. She was following the instinct from the Fade and getting close, the tower was close…she could feel it. Dawn was coming and she could feel the tower so close by, it had to have been magicked. It called to her to the point she couldn't resist and collected Tem without waking Sebastian and Malcolm. The duo may have been chilly to each other but they did what they came for, protected her. She made a decision and headed for Tem. The Hart snorted as she swung up onto her.

"Don't snort at me," she muttered and urged the Hart away swiftly.

Tem cantered comfortably as Khrys followed, what she was sure, was magic. Magic was masking the location for Solas' tower which would explain the sense she was getting and the fact that Sebastian kept telling her nothing was there. She pulled Tem to a stop and felt the magic nexus, it was powerful. She closed her eyes and cast waving her hand to dispel the magic shrouding what she was looking for.

The tower shimmered into the real in the light of the dawn. It was an old broken tower that looked to be elven in origin. The tower had probably been beautiful once, a very long time ago and it was still impressive as a ruin, but time had ravaged it. She didn't see anyone around or any horses, there was no sign of anything really. She slipped off Tem and told her to stay. She could hear the voice in her head telling her not to go in alone and to go back and get Sebastian and Michel but Solas had told her to come alone.

She climbed the steps to the top and found nothing more than a big circular space with an altar in the center.

"Hello, Khrystabel," Solas greeted her causing Khrys to spin toward him. It was just like the dream and she flushed immediately with anger and love. She swallowed but her throat went dry and her chest tightened. It was him, in the flesh, not some dream, not a figment, _him_.

She steeled her nerve and remembered why she was here. "What do you want?" Khrys hissed harshly.

Solas looked her up and down, she was still beautiful, it nearly destroyed him to leave her like he did and it was even worse when she tracked him to through the Eluvians. "There was a time when you yearned for me."

She'd be lying if she thought she didn't anymore. She loved Solas so much it hurt, but that was the past. Khrys glowered and gestured to her left arm. "You took my arm," she hissed again.

Solas barely shrugged. "Better than your life," he answered and she had to admit that he was right about that, it didn't make it any better. That was her last kiss with him, she did miss him, missed his touch and his love. "You're still beautiful, Vhenan."

" _Don't_ call me that!" she growled taking a threatening step toward him. "Don't you ever call me that! You lost that right! Now give me back my daughter."

Solas clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his posture. "Give me the Relic," he replied.

Khrys narrowed her eyes. "Relic?"

Solas simply looked down at her; his eyes still had some warmth to them. She used to love him looking at her like that. "The one Warden Carver found. That the Inquisition now has."

Khrys' first thought was he could take a flying leap. She wasn't sure what that thing was that they brought back but she knew if Solas wanted it she needed to keep it. "What relic?"

"Do not be coy, Vhenan, I know the Inquisition aided in rescue of Warden Carver. I saw it in Nathaniel Howe's memories before he died." She tightened her jaw hoping that Sebastian or Malcolm would find her soon, if they found her. She was no match for Solas, not even close, she never had been. Necromancy was fine specialization but Solas was Fen'Harel, an ancient Elf who likened himself a god.

"You mean before you murdered him." She hissed back and Solas sighed.

Khrys knew that Solas and Nathaniel actually got along. She knew that he was the one Warden that Solas actually respected. "He was hearing the calling, what I did was a mercy," he excused and Khrys wanted to kill him even more.

Khrys was defiant to the last, Solas could kiss her ass. He wanted to destroy the known world and she was going to stop him. "I don't have your Relic, Solas. Give me back my daughter and maybe I won't kill you," she threatened.

Her spirit made him smirk with pride. Oh did he still love her, but he had a job to do. He stepped closer to her and his expression went cold. "Bring me the-…," he began and felt something bore through his right shoulder causing him to stagger forward with a grunt.

Khrys tried to skitter out of the way as her former lover practically fell into her arms. She instinctively caught him and prevented him from falling. There was an arrow imbedded through his armor in his back, a familiar type of arrow loosed from Sebastian's bow. "Sebastian," she breathed, grateful to see him.

Sebastian pulled another arrow from the quiver and nocked it. "Step away," he ordered.

Solas grunted and turned to look at him. "Ahh, the Prince of Starkhaven," Solas growled ignoring the arrow in his back and turned his ire on the Prince. Khrys saw the blue in his eyes and felt a sudden feeling of dread. This was a mistake.

"Sebastian, go," she ordered the overwhelming fear of what was next made her heart thump. "Sebastian, he'll kill you, go."

Solas grimaced as he raised his right hand back toward her placing a freezing spell on her. "No, _Sebastian_ , stay," he growled, anger welling in him. Blue glowing eyes were eerie made more so by the faint swirl of black smoke beginning to emanate from them.

Khrys screamed and stumbled back into the wall flooded with a feeling of icy cold covering her body. Sebastian wasted no time and loosed another arrow but Solas deflected this one and fade stepped _through_ the Prince. Sebastian felt like he was freezing from the inside out and couldn't help but drop his bow hearing it clatter to the floor as Solas trapped him holding the blade on his gauntlet to his throat.

"I told you to come alone, Khrystabel," he scolded and she steadied herself.

"Solas, let him go," she said and held up her right hand in as non-threatening a manner as she could. "He's here to protect me, that's all."

Solas was offended, he would never hurt Khrys and he was mad that he had an arrow in his back. "Your friend will die because of your betrayal, Vhenan," he said and Khrys took a shaky step toward him.

"No. Solas, don't…please," she pleaded but knew that she was about to witness something she didn't want. "Solas, please."

Instead of drawing the blade across his throat Solas drove it into the left side of his neck in a slow motion making sure he hit what was vital on the way in. Sebastian opened his mouth at the assault but blood gargled up and out of his mouth streaming down his chin.

"NO!" Khrys screamed watching Solas, a man she still loved, remove the blade from her friend's neck with a sickening sound. He crumpled to the ground. "You son of a bitch!" she cursed and unleashed a burst of flashfire at him. He was singed a bit by the fire but managed to deflect most of it. Khrys scrambled to Sebastian's side, blood was pouring from the wound on his neck but he was still alive but not for long. "No, Sebastian, no. Please, no."

Solas wasn't proud of having to do this by force but he was annoyed and frustrated, he didn't have time to wear her down or fence with her. "The Relic, Vhenan, or the Prince will not be the last to go," he hissed and Khrys assumed he meant Bree.

"If you touch my daughter I will light the world on fire to kill you, _Fen'Harel_ ," she promised using his name as the curse he was so used to.

Solas shook his head and tried to reach the arrow still lodged in his shoulder. He cursed quietly not able reach it. "I would never harm your daughter, or you, but everyone around you will die until I get what I want…just like him." She glared up at him then looked down at Sebastian, the life slipping away quickly. She was a terrible healer, she'd never been able to master healing spells and now it was going to cost her the life a loyal friend. "Your lover, the Chevalier. Dorian. The Commander. I will kill them all."

He squatted down by her but out of arms reach, his back hurt but he couldn't get to the arrow, he'd have to force her to do it for him. "I'm going to kill you, _Fen'Harel_ ," she hissed. Her eyes were filled with hate now, not something he wanted to see but it was the price he had to pay for this. "I don't care what I have to do. The last thing you will see just before you die will be me."

Solas was going to see her beautiful face when he died anyway, he always thought of her, so it wasn't much of a threat. "The Relic, Vhenan."

Blood continued to flow from Sebastian's neck wound. The Prince gurgled and blood splattered on her face, he was still alive, barely and she looked up at Solas with as cold an expression as she could muster. "Fuck you," she spat and Solas sighed heavily with frustration and stood up straight, she was a stubborn woman.

"You will give me what I want, Khr-…" he began but was cut off when a lightning bolt flew from nowhere halting him from dragging her to her feet. It knocked him sideways but he kept his feet and he turned to see who the caster was. He was met with another powerful blast of lightening to the chest. He staggered backward as his armor absorbed most of the deadly energy and brought up a barrier to deflect the next attack.

Khrys shielded her eyes from the bright magic and let out a sigh of relief as she recognized the mage attacking Solas. _Malcolm, thank the Creators_.

Malcolm took in the scene like a seasoned general did a battlefield. The Prince was dying, Khrys seemed okay, and Solas had an arrow in his back. Solas retaliated, answering lightening with lightening. Malcolm moved and it passed him by, hairs stood on end from the static but he fought back.

Malcolm had never encountered a mage of Solas' caliber in combat before, it was lightening against lightening. Solas produced his staff, the ancient thing Solas had carried since the day she met him but Malcolm had never carried one. Khrys had never seen a mage so adept at casting without one. Solas' Staff of Ice didn't last long as Malcolm knocked it away from him and sent it clattering over the edge of the broken tower.

Now it was down to casting. Ice and lightening flew from Solas' hands and the whole ruin rumbled with the force power that Malcolm commanded. Malcolm was careful, he learned in the Deep Roads that force wasn't suited everywhere and he could do Solas' job for him if he dropped the tower on their heads. What force he did use was controlled, little bits to trap Solas but the Arlathan Mage was better than anyone he'd ever seen. The battle was pitched and dire, Malcolm knew if he took too long Sebastian would die, if he wasn't dead already.

Khrys watched the two of them fight, she'd never seen Malcolm in actual combat against a worthy opponent. It was something to watch to be honest, no staff just his ability to cast. She watched Solas cast his best party trick, turning people to stone and she was horrified as Malcolm froze in his tracks. In that moment Malcolm's body flashed blue and the crackle of Fade magic filled the air. Her brow furrowed when she saw the black smoke billowing from…Malcolm. A blue pulse of some type of magic burst from Malcolm's hands, he broke the spell and the force of the blast sent Solas backward into the intact section of the tower's broken wall. Khrys blinked, she'd seen Fenris do a Spirit Pulse before but not so devastating.

Khrys had never heard Solas scream in pain like she heard now. He was slammed into the ruin wall and caused the arrow to snap off and twist into his back more. Solas wasn't sure what that was and slowly collected himself and got to his feet.

Solas cursed and lamented the pain he was feeling. That was different. Very different. Solas studied the young man before him, who the hell was this, tall and hooded with the look of a battlemage? There was something else about him too, something familiar but not in the sense that they were acquainted…the Fade…that was the connection. "You harbor a spirit," he announced as he quickly figured it out. "Who are you?"

"I am Malcolm Hawke and you will feel Justice's burn," Malcolm replied but his voice wasn't the voice that Khrys had heard all his life. It was the voice of possession. The same voice she'd heard from Anders all those years ago.

Khrys clearly saw the blue crackles and the tell-tale glow of Fade blue in Malcolm's eyes. " _Holy shit_ ," she thought her head spinning. Malcolm…was an abomination? And the words he said, she'd heard them before, or some variation from his father. It was too much. Too overwhelming.

Malcolm attacked again this time with a force power, a small pull of the abyss to trap him. Solas was able to counter with a stone fist and hit Malcolm in the abdomen knocking him off his feet and the wind out of him. The Fade crackled again and Solas took a few moments to try to figure out just how he was using the Spirit, it didn't seem correct. The two powers collided again as Malcolm recovered quicker than he thought. The tower shook as their magic met with incredible force.

Solas was tired of being matched, this needed to end sooner rather than later so he tried something else, Dispel. He cast it and the green aura surrounded Malcolm. Malcolm felt his magic vanish like he'd been hit with magebane and dropped to one knee disoriented by the power drain. He looked up at the ancient Elf, pure defiance. The spirit still showed but Solas wasn't sure what exactly he was looking at. If it was a Spirit, what was it? How was he able to use it like he was? One thing he did know was how powerful this young man was, he didn't carry a staff but he was extremely powerful, by far the most powerful mage he'd met since he woke from his long sleep. "You are truly talented, Malcolm Hawke." And how did he resist being turned to stone?

Malcolm may not have the magic anymore thanks to the spell but he wasn't finished. "You will never harm anyone else ever again." Malcolm said but his voice still distorted sounding like possessed mage. He pulled the daggers from under the cloak and attacked.

Solas was more than a little surprised at that. It wasn't every day a mage also turned out to be a rogue. Dispel canceled his magic but it wouldn't last forever, however the spirit within was alive and kicking. Malcolm moved like a cat, quick and light on his feet, a whirling dervish of Antivan Slashers. Solas didn't have anything for this, he wasn't a swordsman and even if he was he didn't have one. All he had was a blade on his gauntlet. He blocked and channeled power, zapped him with lightening, and blocked again this time managing to slash Malcolm across the face, a swipe diagonal across his mouth. The opportunity for a hit cost Solas and Malcolm's left blade found an opening in Solas' side under his ribcage. The battlemage didn't hesitate and rammed it home.

Solas barked in pain but he wasn't going to be so easy to kill. He wasn't going to die here in a scrap with a mage that was an infant compared to him. He tried to use the orange magic to invade his mind but the Spirit denied him entry with a spectacular Spirit Pulse. The force of the blast did the same thing as it did earlier only this time Solas didn't find the wall of the ruin he was just blow off it completely. Solas hit the stone 40 feet down and had to take a moment to collect himself before slowly moving. He pulled the dagger from his right side with a painful cry. Everything hurt and he shrouded himself in a Fade Cloak. He needed to retreat.

Khrys wasn't sure how to feel, she wasn't sure how to look at Malcolm now and her expression showed. She watched Malcolm stumble over to them and became acutely aware of the dead Prince in her lap, his blue eyes still open and blood all over his face and once pristine armor. Malcolm glanced briefly at her but he wouldn't meet her eyes. Was he ashamed? Or was he worried?

She snapped back to Sebastian. "He's dead," she managed out, her voice broken but white creation magic came from Malcolm's hands.

"Not if I can help it," he replied only it wasn't Malcolm's voice. It was a spirits voice. He crackled blue again and the Fade pulled with power. Khrys' hairs stood on end at the magic that charged the area.

Sebastian was dead, she saw the life leave him. All Malcolm was doing now was mending flesh. You couldn't heal the dead, but the magic Malcolm was pouring into the healing was unlike anything she'd ever felt. She could feel the magic, it flooded her senses, the only mage she'd ever felt the same magic from was Solas. With a great flash of light from Malcolm's hands and into the Prince, Sebastian's back arched like he'd been shocked and he gasped sucking in a huge gulp of air.

Khrys shrieked, startled by the dead man now breathing. "Creators, Sebastian," she breathed and put her hand on his face to calm him. "It's alright, Sebastian, be calm," she coached, hollow words given the fact that she was ready to panic as well. What had Malcolm just done? This wasn't Necromancy. Sebastian was healed and very much alive.

Malcolm had gone pale and slumped on his knees; he'd used more mana in the past five minute than he had in his whole life.

"What…what happened?" Sebastian asked as he began to gather his wits, he tasted blood and his face and neck felt sticky. He remembered Solas sticking him. He remembered the feeling of death. He saw his life flash before his eyes and then he was back.

"You were dead, Prince," Malcolm told him, he was so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. "And now you're not."

**

They made camp in the same place they had the previous night, when Malcolm and Sebastian woke to find her gone they didn't bother to pack out. Malcolm sensed the power she had and he and Sebastian followed it. Malcolm recovered his wayward blade and didn't see Solas anywhere, the Mage ran, it felt good to stick it to him for once.

No one really spoke, Malcolm didn't look good and Sebastian was having a crisis of faith. Malcolm had downed two lyrium potions and still looked awful. He passed out as soon as his head hit the bedroll. Sebastian's bedroll but it was the first one he found. Khrys understood the feeling, she'd been so drained of mana before that lyrium potions didn't even help. The young man just needed to rest.

Sebastian had removed his blood stained armor and went to the stream they camped by to clean himself up. When Khrys found him he was on one knee praying.

"My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within your grace touch me with fire that I be cleansed tell me I have sung to your approval. O Maker, hear my cry," Khrys felt compelled to finish the passage with him, Sebastian was a religious man he had just died and then been resurrected. She spoke with him. "Seat me by your side in death make me one within your glory and let the world once more see your favor for you are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only yours to give."

Sebastian didn't object to her praying with him, in fact he welcomed it. "You know the Chant?"

Khrys' eyes followed him as he rose to his full height, most of the blood had been cleaned away but there were still streaks of it on his bare chest. He took his undershirt off to wash it and it was currently hanging in the tree. "Yes," she answered and Sebastian looked surprised.

"I thought you didn't believe," he sounded surprised. That was true, Khrys still followed the Elven Gods despite what Solas had told her. It was hard to just shed her entire belief system just because her mad lover told her it was all a lie.

She shrugged taking the wet rag from the log it was sitting on and wringing it out. "I don't," she answered and approached him. Sebastian had never liked that answer but it was the first time he hadn't winced when she said it. "But I'm the Herald of Andraste; it made sense for me to learn it." Khrys pressed the wet cloth to the streaks of blood on his chest. The Prince blushed, deeply. "Turn around."

The bashful Prince's blushing deepened. "What?"

She laughed quietly. "Turn. You missed your back." Sebastian almost didn't, this wasn't proper, Michel would have his head and Evelyn would too, but he did a she asked. There was a long awkward silence as the Inquisitor cleaned the blood of his back. "Are you alright?" she asked after long minutes of nothing but the breeze in the trees.

The Prince took a moment to respond. "I…I died, Khrys." It was rare for him to be so informal with her.

"I know," she replied with her kind empathetic tone. She saw the life leave him; she could still see the fear in his eyes. Those kind blue eyes filled with fear would haunt her until the day she died.

"I saw my life flash before my eyes," he continued and she dropped the rag on the log and appeared in front of him, her task complete. "Then I died. But I didn't see the Maker," his voice started to shake. "I didn't see the Maker, Khrys. Why?" She was Andraste's Herald, maybe she didn't have all the answers but she had to know something.

It hurt her to see him so shaken, nothing could shake Sebastian's beliefs…or so she thought. "I don't know, Sebastian," she answered; there was nothing that she could say to him. There were no words of comfort once your belief system was shattered. He should have been welcomed into the Maker's arms but he said he saw nothing. "Don't let this change your faith."

He'd been trying to do that very thing since they left the tower, it wasn't easy and he was still fighting with it. "I thought he was going to hurt you," he said quietly, now he was referring to Solas. "I couldn't let him do that."

In all of this Khrys did make a mistake, she didn't go with them, she went alone. It satisfied Solas until it all turned upside down but it still placed Sebastian and Malcolm in an impossible position. "I'm sorry." She apologized. "I shouldn't have left you. Things might-…" Sebastian held up a hand to silence her.

"What's done is done," he said trying to push the crisis of faith to the back of his mind. "And Malcolm kicked him in the teeth."

"You should rest." She turned to leave but Sebastian stopped her.

"Will you pray with me?" he asked and Khrys blinked, it wasn't that she didn't like the Chant – some of the passages were actually quite beautiful – or that she didn't believe, she didn't want to make a mockery of it. But she nodded with a kind smile and dropped to one knee beside him.

Together they prayed, Sebastian started it and she recognized the passage and recited it with him. "Who knows me as you do? You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart. Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet the Maker is the rock to which I cling."

"Thank you, My Lady Herald," he spoke as she rose to return to camp. If that was what he needed to help him come to terms with what happened than she was happy to accommodate.

**

Malcolm startled awake and felt disoriented, he heard a fire crackling and felt the presence of another. It was dawn and the sun was barely up but it was light enough that he could see clearly. Sebastian was seated on the log at his feet buckling his armor into place.

"Easy, Son," Sebastian soothed and Malcolm gave him a bleary eyed expression.

He sat up slowly, the events of his impressive fight with Solas all came back to him…everyone knew now. His secret that had been so carefully hidden had been dragged into the light. He healed the slash across his mouth before he slept but he still had blood on his face. Sebastian passed him a skin of water, Malcolm looked better than he had before they made camp but the best description was hungover.

Malcolm accepted it and took big, greedy, gulps. He was thirsty and hungry. He said nothing to Sebastian but he could feel the Prince's eyes on him probably begging the question that he would have if he'd been brought back from the dead.

"You've been keeping secrets, young man," Sebastian said and Malcolm stayed quiet. Khrys shared what she'd seen with Sebastian so the fact that he was possessed and had the ability to bring people back from the dead was common knowledge now. "Get your wits about you, Khrys wanted to talk to you," he finished and left him to tend to the animals. Malcolm had lost the trail for Solas the day before and he hadn't been able to pick it up either. Khrys wanted to conduct another search before heading to the rendezvous; they all hoped Fenris and the Orlesian Prince had luck in retrieving Bree.

**

Malcolm's nerves twisted in knots, the secret he'd kept his entire life was out in the open. Khrys now knew and that worried him. She was a tolerant woman and had always treated him well but the fact of the matter was that even with all the new tolerance for Mages, possession and abominations were still dangerous and feared. He was called an abomination but it wasn't exactly true, he wasn't exactly possessed either. On a scale from Anders to Cole he was somewhere in the middle.

"Khrys," he said making his presence known.

Khrys turned to look at him, she was dressed for travel and the metal of her battlemage armor glinted in the morning sun. Even with the loss of her arm she was still a formidable mage. She looked up, trying to reconcile what she'd seen from him for a few moments before speaking. "Malcolm," she said simply and he gulped. Nerves getting the better of him. If it were anyone else, anyone but her, Dorian, and Bree he wouldn't be so worried. Anyone else he would simply kill and be done with it, not this time. They treated him like family. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The truth was probably the best way to go. "Was necessary," he answered. "My parents feared what would happen if people knew so they told no one."

Khrys struggled with it, possessed mages were dangerous. Like Anders, the internal struggle between a spirit, or demon, and the one it possessed could destroy a lot people's lives. Justice had become Vengeance after being denied its purpose and it nearly destroyed everything. All the time she'd spent with Malcolm…how did she not see it? How did no one see it? "Are you a danger?"

Malcolm moved closer and stood beside her. "I've been this way since before I can remember. I've never been a danger to anyone who didn't ask for it."

"What is it?" she asked referring to the Spirit. What kind of spirit or demon do you harbor?

It wasn't an easy question to answer, he wasn't like his father or any of the other possessed mages people thought about. "I am Justice and I am Malcolm Hawke."

Khrys' mind raced with that answer. It created more questions than answers. Vengeance had left Anders in the Fade at Adamant to allow them to escape the Nightmare. The 'demon' sacrificed itself to save them all. She had more questions, many more questions but she took the answer, she'd have words with Anders and Tess later but what he said didn't quite add up. Malcolm came into his power when he was six; if he was possessed before that it meant that Malcolm may have been something else entirely. "And Sebastian? I watched him die, Malcolm, he was dead." Malcolm looked at the ground. Suddenly all the not quite human ticks and mannerisms became unbelievably clear. "How did you do that? It's not necromancy…he is completely healed."

There was a silence as he thought about how to answer it. Having the spirit within was something that he'd always known. His talent for healing better than his father could was an equal mystery that made Anders blink and stand dumbfounded. "I can't answer that…I don't know," he said finally with an honest teenager shrug. "First time I did it was a few years ago. I thought my Dad was going to have a heart seizure."

"Only Blood Mages and Mortalitasi can bring people back from the dead," she said matter of factly and Malcolm would tend to agree with her.

"Apparently not," he said and couldn't quite decipher her expression, something between curiosity and distrust.

"You, me, and your parents are going to have a nice long sit down when we get back to Skyhold," she said and then turned. "Let's go," she said and moved away from him but Malcolm felt that the relationship he had with her would never be the same again and that scared him.

The camp was easy enough to pack. Sebastian hadn't slept at all so he spent his restless night preparing the leave. He'd saddled Silver, Tem, and Kyp so by the time Khrys was finished having a talk with Malcolm they were ready to leave. His crisis of faith continued but he felt that the simple thank you to Malcolm was woefully inadequate given what had transpired.

"Malcolm," Sebastian began and the young man turned from Kyp. The Prince's faith had been shaken to the very core and he couldn't blame him, "you did well." He continued after a few moments of thought and Malcolm simply listened. "I know you had a secret to protect but you did what you had to do." Sebastian's right hand extended to him in an offer of friendship. Malcolm took it. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. When I return to Starkhaven I will rescind all warrants and bounties on your father. Your family will have no further trouble from me."

**

Bree wandered. She hadn't seen Solas in several days which were strange given the fact that he always wanted to talk to her. He always offered her a meal and was very kind. She felt that it was almost as if he wanted her to like him. So she wandered. Her chambers were not locked and the first time she encountered his 'guards' she froze in place. The spirits were largely indifferent about her presence so long as she didn't wander too close to where she shouldn't be. They didn't speak to her even when she spoke to them so she shrugged and meandered.

After circling as much of the compound as she could find and not be herded away by a testy spirit she found herself back in the main area where Solas took his meals. She could hear a commotion and found Solas looking rather disheveled…and pissed.

"What happened to you?" she asked in a tone what was without any real concern. She saw the blood on his side that had run down and stained his breeches and guessed that he'd tangled with someone better than he. This was the first time she'd seen him look disheveled. She circled slowly noticing also that he did have a wound on his back, there was blood and an opening where she guessed an arrow had been but it was all healed now.

Solas had been angry, for a while he'd been angry, but in his trek to the Eluvian that would take him from the tower back to his home cooled his anger. He didn't like being so soundly beaten by such a young mage. He knew he was young, he could feel it. The power was there but it didn't have the fine control of a seasoned spell caster and if he was possessed it didn't feel like any possession he'd ever encountered. "Your mother."

Bree's eyebrows shot up. "Mom did this?" Bree had always heard the stories about how talented her mother was in the practice of combat magic but she'd never seen it.

"Her companion," he answered as Bree continued to circle him. "A young mage who called himself Malcolm Hawke." Further reflection told him Malcolm had been present when the Wardens retrieved the Relic. Malcolm's was the unknown face he'd seen in Nathaniel's memories.

Bree stopped moving, surprise clearly written on her face. "Malcolm?" she chortled. "Well, he always did have a talent for destruction," she shrugged and kept moving.

Solas scoffed. She wasn't wrong in that, he was young but he had such a command of Force and Lightening the likes of which he'd never seen. The kid was very talented. "He's also possessed."

At that Bree spun around, the reaction he'd expected. "What?" her expression and tone were confusion and a little shocked. She didn't know and it appeared that Khrys didn't either. He was busy trying not to be killed by the mage in question but he did see a fairly surprised Inquisitor.

"He harbors a spirit," he replied calmly and took a gulp of water from a goblet on the table.

"Lie!" Bree exclaimed. In truth, her head spun, the idea of Malcolm being weak minded enough to allow possession of a demon was impossible. For as young as he was he was still one of the strongest mages she'd ever met.

Solas' annoyance passed. "Ask him."

Bree's glare could have curdled milk. "I can't. I'm _here_." Solas glowered but nothing more. Even though she was irritating him, as a hostage should, Solas had a very calm manner. "So now that my adopted brother handed you your ass may I please go now?"

"You have a sharp tongue," he replied and stood.

Bree smirked. "Don't want to hear it? Let me go."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I still need you. If your mother refuses to do things the civilized way then we must go uncivilized."

Bree's brow furrowed, Solas' tone changed to something she didn't like. "And what is it exactly that you want?" she asked and he was irritated enough to answer.

"The Relic."

"What Relic?"

"Why do people see fit to lie to me?" he grumbled. "The relic that was taken from the Deep Roads and brought to Skyhold by Nathaniel Howe."

Bree leveled a defiant glare at him. "She's not going to give you the means to destroy the world so either kill me or let me go." Solas blinked.

She confirmed they had it and had apparently realized that it was a Foci. She was also completely right. Khrys would never give it to him. He was going to have to force it. This was the part of his plan that he hoped he wouldn't have to use. He couldn't enter Skyhold due to the blood magic wards and meeting with Khrys went sideways. He needed the Relic, sooner rather than later and fighting with Khrys over it was going to take too long. "I have another plan."

Bree wasn't sure what he was talking but she was certain that she didn't like it. She knew she was to be held as a ransom but clearly that hadn't panned out. He wanted the Relic to complete his mission but no one really knew exactly what the thing did. "What are you talking about?" she asked now becoming nervous about his meaning.

The Relic was the final piece to his plan but he couldn't get to it. If Khrys wouldn't give it to him he'd use Bree to take it. "I must complete my task, da'len, which also means I have to do something that I swore I never would," he said and Bree backed slowly from him. She knew something was about take place that she wasn't going to like.

"Get away from me."

"If your mother will not give me what I want then I need to use you to get I," he said and had backed his prey into a corner. He didn't want to hurt her but he did need to use her.

She was scared now but tried her best to not show it. "What are you going to do?"

"You will be bound to my will and you will bring me the Relic."

The story of the Well of Sorrows came back to her in a storm. "I will not," she snarled back.

His right hand flared with magic and she ducked away but was trapped by his left arm. "You will."

She tried to run but couldn't escape his grasp. "I thought Fen'Harel didn't take slaves," Bree spat with all the venom she could find.

Solas beat the doubt back, he didn't take slaves, he freed them but here he was taking Bree just as his peers did. "It is necessary," he replied but she could hear how torn he was and he seized her. His left hand held the back of her head and his right flared with power near her left temple. "Ir abelas, da'len." He felt her try to use magic but it didn't work, just like Templars he had the ability to dispel the magic. It wasn't easy to do and took a very long time to learn how to do it so deftly.

Bree screamed. The magic printing on her skin was painful but it soothed after a moment, the burning dulled. Her painful cry nearly made him stop, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her but he had no choice, ordinarily this process wasn't painful but he was imprinting this on a very deep level. She'd be his to command and if necessary to control. His vallaslin imprinted and the outline of a half wolf face flashed orange. She collapsed into him and he held her close. "I'm sorry, da'len, there's no other way."

It felt like the side of her face had been branded clean down to the bone but just as quickly as it began the pain subsided. It was a strange feeling being held so closely in his arms, it was caring and gentle, he soothed her but the act made Bree that much more conflicted. Why would he even care to hold her and stroke her hair gently? "What did you do to me?"

"You are bound to my will now, child." Just saying it made him cringe…he hated this…damn them. Damn them all for forcing him to do this. "I'm sorry…there's no other way."

**

Fenris had never been keen on riding, he did it for speedy transit but he was much more comfortable walking. They landed in Kirkwall and pressed hard in the general direction indicated on the map. Declan scryed to narrow the location for Bree and continued to do so as they went on.

Jean had no idea what to make of Cole but he knew enough to steer clear. Fenris didn't talk at all, the grim determination of a bodyguard sent out away from his charge to rescue the daughter. The Templar was actually not what he had expected. From what he'd gathered, Declan Horne was the best Templar in Skyhold's ranks and one of Khrys' personal guards along with an Orlesian Templar named Gerard who'd stayed behind in Skyhold. He was from Denerim, blonde with a short but full beard, tall, well built, and despite the situation, had a sense of humor.

Declan was prim and proper which reminded Jean of the Chevaliers, and for a Fereldan his manners were impeccable. In the conversation to fill the time Jean found out that Declan was raised in the Chantry which accounted for the manners and that he'd never been assigned to a Circle or either of the Mage Colleges. Before the Mage-Templar War, when he was 18, he was a Mage Hunter responsible for tracking apostates and dragging them back to a Circle or killing them.

After days of long, hard riding the group was now standing before an old Tevinter Outpost in the western Free Marches. Cole cocked his head to it obviously perplexed. "We have been here before," the spirit said. Jean and Declan looked at each other and then to Fenris. The Elf just shrugged and scowled.

Jean's brow furrowed and he asked the hanging question. "What do you mean?"

"The Warden Queen tracked his blood here and found nothing," he answered and sounded relatively normal. Jean said nothing but was able to follow along, Cole was referred to Queen Lydia tracking Solas' blood.

"She's here somewhere," Declan said as the phylactery was still indicating that she was nearby.

"Fortress. Formidable. Focused. Shining beacon of freedom," Cole said quickly as they moved further following Declan. "Raided. Ruined. Razed. _Replaced_. Revolting."

Jean's furrowed brow deepened. "Anyone have any clue what he's talking about?"

"The outpost," Fenris answered and Jean thought on that.

They followed Declan down the hillside that the outpost was situated on. Jean did notice that the outpost didn't seem to fit quite right on the plateau, it was too small. Cole's words of ruined, razed, and replaced told him that whatever'd stood there before had been far grander.

"There's an entrance," Declan announced when they reached the base of the plateau. It wasn't totally obvious and was obscured by vegetation but Declan had tracked mages through everything there was in Fereldan. He could feel barriers and this was protected by a spirit barrier. "Magic," he began and dismounted pushing his bay Forder out of the way gently. The others did the same. Jean gathered the horses and led the knot of animals away from the entrance. He knew Mau wouldn't stray and would give any uninvited guests holy hell for their trouble.

Declan considered the situation carefully and could tell Fenris was as well. He knew Fenris but didn't know much about the Orlesian Prince beyond he was a seasoned Chevalier. If he dispelled this barrier there was a great possibility that whoever set it would be on them immediately.

After a moment he heard Jean draw his sword. "Dispel it," the Prince said but made it sound subtly like an order. His patience only went so far and he wanted Bree found and returned to safety as quickly as possible. He wasn't naive or careless it was just that his patience was running out but he did his best not to look like an annoyed noble tapping his foot.

Declan didn't take orders from him but in this case he was correct, they'd just have to deal with whatever was on the other side. He looked to Fenris who gave a single nod and took the huge greatsword off his back. Of them all Fenris had killed the most mages, despite his employer he still didn't like them but his hard stance shifted with those who earned his trust and even then he didn't trust them fully. The Templar raised his right hand and channeled his power toward the barrier. The shimmering barrier dropped and the four of them proceeded inside.

Declan led and as anticipated they were attacked. Not by Elves or guards, but by spirits. The same spirits the Inquisitor encountered while uncovering the Dragon's Breath plot, hugely difficult to beat. Declan was encircled in shimmering blue that pulsed outward: cleanse. Anything magical in the area was now hindered severely and when he added a flash of Holy Smite to it Jean, Fenris, and Cole had a much easier time picking the ethereal enemy apart.

Jean thanked his father for the enchanted armor, shield, and sword. His sword had a devastating impact yet the bound spirits that were still the toughest enemies he'd fought in his life. He backed into Declan and for the first time in his life could _feel_ magic. The cleanse permeated his armor, raised the hairs on his skin, and swirled around him. "Cool," he said with a smile and heard Declan's throaty chuckle.

When the dust settled Declan was on one knee resting but getting a reading from the glowing phylactery in his hand. They still hadn't seen anything living but the phylactery was telling them that she was here so they pressed on.

Solas was aware something was very wrong with his sanctuary. As soon as the barrier came down he knew and left Bree in search of the intruders. He heard the combat and readied himself for battle but he never got the chance to fight. He rounded the corner and found the enemy.

Solas prided himself on being able to see things coming, with patience, and meticulous planning being able to roll with the punches was a very handy skill. In short, he didn't get surprised by much. Coming face to face with someone who literally put his hand in his chest most definitely counted as a surprise. This must have been Fenris; the platinum haired, lyrium lined, warrior with his hand _in_ his chest. This was the Lyrium Warrior he'd heard so much about. On any other day he'd love to just talk to him. Even in his time Lyrium Warriors were rare, and now here was one standing before him looking _extremely_ pissed off. Solas took the time to be disgusted by the ancient magic perverted by Tevinter blood mages to turn him into one of the ancient warriors from Arlathan. Given the day he'd had and the surprise from fighting the possessed mage/rogue that literally blew him off a building he just called it a wash.

Damn did this _hurt_. All he could see was the fierce, determined glare from the Elf's penetrating green eyes. There was a Templar with him, the young man he decked with his staff in Orlais, and…Cole. The Templar was effective and blocked his magic.

"Where is she?" Fenris demanded his tone a ferocious growl that could chill bone.

Solas' mind was still in spin mode but his demand registered after a moment, he was looking for Bree and unless a miracle happened he was going to get her. He attempted to speak but nothing came up but an undignified gasp of pain. "Fenris?" he heard Bree breathe out in a tone of relief.

Fenris's voice made her heart race. He could only be here for one reason: to save her. Bree came around the same corner as Solas had and was immediately snatched by Jean before she realized who else was actually there. She was surprised to see him and argued quietly with his protective stance, not wanting to hide behind him.

Solas took advantage of her arrival and his eyes flashed blue. Bree screamed and his mark lit up like a burn on her face. The half wolf face was unmistakable. "Kill me and she dies," Solas warned, the hand stuck in his chest was alarming but he wasn't going to go quietly.

The room froze. Jean had his left arm around her waist to steady her and she nearly collapsed back into him. Declan was confused, no mage should be able to cast while his power cleansed the area of magic.

"She is of my love. I must not fail. Not proud of it," Cole rattled off the feeling from Solas and looked to Fenris. "He will kill her."

Fenris didn't like being forced to back off. He had him. _He had him_. Right now, right in front of him, completely vulnerable but he couldn't risk Bree's life. More of the bound guardians were coming and they needed to leave. He released the mage and punched him _hard_ in the face knocking him back. Bree howled and upset Cole.

"Bound to him. Bound to his will. I am his now," Cole said and they began to leave the way they came in. Declan covered them. The Templar was unwilling to turn his back to the mage but so far Solas was slow to get up.

"Declan, let's go!" he heard Jean shout as Fenris led them out. Seeing Fenris in action was like watching a master dancer. His spirit pulse devastated the enemy and his Blade of Mercy matched it. He cleared the path with large, precise, almost effortless swings. Cole bounced around the spirits he'd faced before while chasing Solas through the Mountain Temples, they were difficult to beat but it could be done.

Declan trotted behind Jean and Bree, the Templar was tiring and it was beginning to show. He pulsed a Holy Smite and the descending Spirits took significant damage. Fire exploded from Bree's hands catching two guardians in the blaze. Now that there was a mage in the party Declan had to remember that and not cancel her magic on accident.

The escape was easier than expected despite fighting several spirits on the way out. Declan was tired but still doing everything he could to prevent enemy magic and weakening the attacking spirits. On the way out Bree spun and conjured the biggest firestorm anyone of them had seen turning the entrance hall into a raging inferno.

**

They rode fast and hard away from the outpost trying to put as much distance between them and Solas as possible. They only stopped when they realized the horses could go no further without a rest or they'd be afoot for the rest of the trip back to Skyhold.

The camp was made nearly four hours south back the way that they'd come. Declan perked up after a dose of lyrium but he still looked tired, they all looked tired except for Cole. Fenris stood guard as Declan, tired though he was, found a deer. The Templar dressed it and cooked it. Cole kept looking at Bree. It was almost as though he wanted to ask her a question but never did so he stood the watch along with Fenris. Bree had spent the long four hours doubled on Mau; the testy warhorse seemed agitated by the second passenger but behaved well enough. She sat in front of Jean who had his arms around her in the manly protective way. It made her smile. No one spoke until camp was made and even then no one wanted to _start_ the conversation. They were all instead trying to come up with some sort of explanation that would need to told to Khrys about why Fenris _could_ have killed Solas right then and there but didn't.

While Declan cooked the Deer Bree found herself curled up next to Jean. She'd been worried about him the entire time she was with Solas. He told her that the Prince was still alive but considering the source she took it with a grain of salt. Having him there made her happy, she felt safe, all things considered and she curled under his cape while leaning on the right side of his chest.

Jean was a gentleman and enjoyed sitting with her. Whatever she wanted he let her do and chuckled when she snuggled up on him. He enjoyed the feeling of her there but he didn't enjoy the equal measure glowers from across the camp from Fenris and Declan. It comforted him to know that at the very least he had Michel's blessing and probably Khrys'. Dorian would kill him. He tried not to think of that, that conversation was going to be ugly, instead he shifted his thoughts to her. She was all he cared about.

"That'll never happen again," Jean said softly as her head was on his chest. "I swear it."

Bree craned her head back. "It wasn't your fault, Jean."

He looked down at her. "Regardless. I won't let anyone hurt you again."

She blushed when he said it. It was something that she would read in a romance novel, that fairy tale love story she indulged in reading and had a whole bookshelf of. A smile spread across her face as she craned as far up as she could. It was obvious she wanted to kiss him and he obliged by leaning down. He had to block out the look from Declan across the way. He put his left hand on her cheek gently as he introduced tongue and deepened the kiss.

The sound of a throat clearing, loud and pointedly, broke them apart. Bree blushed deeply like a teenager with her crush. Jean glared but his flushed cheeks were a giveaway. "I'm gonna stop that right there," Declan said sternly ignoring the blushing and the glaring. "Personally it's none of my business but she's my charge and I don't value being killed by the Inquisitor or Lord Dorian." Bree giggled like a young girl in love. Jean glared behind the mask; it was plainly evident, and muttered in Orlesian. "I speak Orlesian, Prince," Declan reminded and Jean finished his comment unabashed, something along the line of mind your own business. Declan only chuckled, it was all annoyed insults and cursing.

"No fighting, Gentlemen," Bree chuckled.

**

Bree looked at her reflection in the still pool of water, the mark Solas gave her wasn't visible like a vallaslin was but she knew it was there. She could feel it under her skin like it was burned into her bone. By the reaction of Jean and Cole when Solas threatened her to save himself it was visible when he wanted it so. She touched her temple expecting it to hurt like a burn but it didn't and she swallowed the nerves she felt. How was she going to explain this? Could he control her? Questions that she didn't know if she could answer and it scared her. She dipped her hands in the pool and splashed the cool water on her face. When she was ready she stood letting the light breeze run across her face with her eyes closed.

"Sun-lit fire waging a war against the Wolf," Cole said appearing from nowhere next to her.

She was used to him materializing out of thin air but it was no less unnerving even after all these years. Bree decoded his words with practiced ease. To him, she was bright as the sun and the Wolf was easy to put together. "I don't know what he did to me," she said quietly turning to face the spirit of compassion.

"He bound you as Mythal did to Morrigan. His will is yours now but you fight it. When he takes control you will not be able to fight," Cole replied. The part about being bound to his will she knew but she wasn't sure what all it entailed. No matter what it was she was pretty sure she didn't like it.

"I don't know what to do, Cole," she said and the spirit gave her the childlike curious cock of his head. "What do I do?"

"I don't know," he answered. The spirit sounded particularly coherent which was normal when he spoke to her. "Solas freed slaves he never took them."

She'd heard the stories and movement caught her eye. It was Jean, looking dashing even though he'd slept on the ground. "Bree," he began hoping he didn't interrupt anything. He was still not sure what to make of Cole but he was handy in a fight. "My apologies, we're ready to go."

The fear and worry she'd been feeling disappeared when she saw him and a warm smile appeared. "Thank you."

Cole was bombed by the feelings from both of them. "Radiant. Rom-…"

"Cole," Bree warned and he fell silent with a knowing smile on his face before disappearing.

Jean's brow furrowed as the spirit disappeared from sight. "I'm never going to understand him am I?"

Bree chuckled and moved to him. "Probably not," she smiled sweetly as he took her hand. "Why did you come for me? You rode across the country with people you don't even know to get me."

He tucked a lock of black hair behind her right ear and couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't come across as overly romantic. "Because it's you," he said after a moment. Bree blinked not sure what to think of that. "I failed to protect you the first time and that will never happen again," he kissed the back of the hand that had his ring on it.

**

Jean attempted to help Bree into his saddle but before he could say 'let me help you' she was already up. "I'll walk for a bit. Don't want to tire him out carrying both of us." Bree shrugged and settled into the seat comfortably.

"You should ride, Prince," Declan called, "we need to get to Kirkwall and we're already three days behind our estimated rendezvous." Jean nodded and stepped away from Mau to converse with Declan and Fenris on the route.

Mau pinned his ears, shook his head, half reared, and hopped agitated that his master was on the ground while someone else was on his back. Bree gathered the reins and corrected the moody stallion firmly with a bark. Mau ended with his head up and turned slightly to the left practically daring her. She pointed a finger at him and told him to behave.

The smile that spread across his face was impossible to hide and he felt a heavy hand land on his left shoulder. "She is lovely, is she not?" Declan said with a chuckle. The kind of chuckle that is heard when brothers or comrades know that one of the other comrades is in love.

Jean didn't answer he couldn't help but smile, she was so much better than any Orlesian wallflower at court. "Lovely. Lively. _Ma bichette_ ," Cole said suddenly appearing to his right. "You love her," he added and Jean stayed quiet. He honestly had no idea how to respond but Cole didn't seem offended or like he was even needed any type of reply. "Would you like to know what she thinks of you?"

" _Yes!"_ he thought first. "No," he lied and Cole seemed to see the conflict within giving him a slight smile and single barely audible snort.

"You should," he said and Jean lingered both not sure how to talk to him or how to end the conversation. He did want to know what she thought of him but it was much more fun to ask her. He simply walked away and Cole's smile remained. He'd known Bree her whole life and could see into Jean's heart. He was a good man.

"Did you win the standoff?" Jean asked Bree referring to the tense way Mau looked.

Her giggle was delightful to him. Jean was a handsome man and she was curious to know what he looked like without that mask but his tall and broad build coupled with his dashing smile made her tingle. "I like horses with spirit," she replied sweetly.

"He doesn't have spirit he's just mean," he corrected easily and put his foot in the stirrup effortlessly pulling himself into the saddle behind her. The display of strength and agility made Bree blush.

**

Kirkwall hadn't changed at all, minus the presence of Sebastian's troops. The Prince had honored the decree from the Inquisitor and his troops were out of Kirkwall in less than six months. Being back in Kirkwall was strange, very strange. People stared and sneered at the city state's former de facto ruler. Sebastian ignored it; he would be back when the city fell apart again. That was its perpetual cycle. Varric was less than thrilled to see the Prince return but muddled through it.

"Choir boy, if you try to conquer something I'll drown you in the harbor." Varric warned but Sebastian didn't respond. Varric observed the group, he didn't know what they'd been through but he knew it wasn't good. Sebastian, who had always been quiet but easily baited by Varric and Anders, didn't seem like himself. For one he was back in Kirkwall, he supervised the withdrawal of the last of his soldiers and hadn't been back since. He also seemed shaken, something that no one ever saw from him. Varric had only seen him shaken once, when the Chantry was destroyed.

Khrys waved off Varric's puzzled expression so he didn't press further. Whatever happened out there must have been big.

Varric set them up in the Keep. With Sebastian was Khrys, his friend and someone with luck worse than Hawke's and that was hard to do. She looked dejected and it didn't escape him that Bree was not with them. Anders' son looked as strange as he always had. He was a good young man and so far was like his father in his sense of humor. Malcolm was a nice blend of Tess and Anders but there was always something about him that was off. "Did you kill him?" Varric asked and Khrys shook her head. "Well, that's unfortunate."

"Did Fenris come back?" she asked and Varric shook his head.

"Not yet."

Much like the several weeks Khrys didn't sleep well, she worried about Solas, about Bree, about everything. Malcolm's revelation was still not entirely settled and she'd have words with Anders and Tess later, Sebastian was dramatically different since his brush with death and shaken beliefs. She missed Michel and longed for his kiss, his touch, his embrace.

A knock on her door startled her awake. "What?" she asked hurriedly still not fully awake.

It was Varric. "Fenris is back."

**

Hightown had way too many stairs and the tired legs of those who had been in a saddle for the past several hours caused everyone but Cole to complain while they were on their way up to the Viscount's Keep. It reminded Bree of Skyhold and she couldn't wait to go home.

"Mama!" she called and found herself embraced in a hug with her.

"Thank the Gods you're safe," Khrys said and hugged her tightly. "Did he hurt you?" It felt wrong to ask that. Solas, to this day, had never hurt her.

Bree took a step back from her and gravitated to Jean, he'd spent all this time on the road with her as her protector. As a mage she didn't really need the protection but having him near made her feel good. The Orlesian Prince was fierce but at the same time extremely genuine and kind. "No," she answered but she still wasn't sure what to say about his 'binding'. So far she didn't feel any different, the only change she'd ever felt was when he threatened to kill her and the mark lit up. She needed to talk to Morrigan.

Everyone was exhausted, Sebastian and Malcolm included. They had joined them looking like anyone should in the middle of the night and quietly observed. Malcolm didn't make much eye contact with Declan, Fenris, or Bree. He did notice Bree giving him a very curious look.

Varric let them know that rooms had been made available for everyone to get some sleep, wash up, or get something to eat if they wanted. Khrys noticed the hand holding between Bree and Jean causing her to smile slightly. She didn't want her daughter to leave her sight but gave the girl her space; they'd all talk more in the morning.

Bree had taken a bath and when she was finished she went to Malcolm's room rather than her own. Solas' declaration that he was possessed made her curious and seeing his behavior earlier confirmed that there was some truth to it. She tapped on the door and after a moment it opened. Malcolm blinked and his nervous expression abated as he was just happy to see her. "Bree," he breathed and pulled her into a hug. She was safe. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"You too," she smiled. Malcolm was as close as she came to having a brother and his protective hug made her smile.

"Did he hurt you?"

Bree was growing tired of that question and she still didn't quite know how to answer it. "I don't know," she said. "I'm actually more interested in the rumors I've heard about you." For the first time since she could remember she saw him shy away, he turned his back and she closed the door behind her. "Why didn't you say anything? I've known you since I was 7."

The room filled with the feeling of magic, she was sensitive to the Fade and could feel it come alive. Malcolm turned to her, looking like a possessed mage. She'd never feared him a day in her life but seeing him like that was unsettling. The eyes reminded her of Solas and she couldn't help but let the uncertainty show. Malcolm saw it. "For that look on your face now."

Bree was mortified and stepped toward him. She could never be ashamed of him or afraid of him. "Mal, I'm sorry, I didn't me-…"

Malcolm held up his hand. "It's fine," he cut her off. Hearing the demonic voice was unsettling but he was her best friend, her brother. Malcolm had always been powerful and dangerous, but she'd never feared him before and wasn't going to start now.

"What's it like?" she asked after an awkward moment. "To be possessed?"

Malcolm sighed and turned away from her gesturing for her to sit down. "I'm not possessed," he answered. "I'm something else." The expression on her face told him that there was a further explanation needed. "I can't really explain it. My father was different, he and the spirit couldn't reconcile. I've been like this since I was a child, whatever the spirit was before we're one in the same now."

She sat down next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You can always trust me, Brother," she said and he smiled looking down at her hand, the ring peaked his curiosity.

The demon retreated, giving back the side of him that everyone knew. "Orlesian ring…something you want to tell me?" he asked holding her hand in his and studying the ring.

She giggled. "Jealous?"

Malcolm made a face and released her hand. "Please," he thought of Lily, he hadn't seen her in months then shook the thought away. "I think you should go to bed…your Prince must be waiting."

He was teasing her and she slapped his shoulder. "He has been nothing but a gentleman," she said and stood moving to leave.

"Ahh…better go and corrupt him."

She rolled her eyes and couldn't help but blush at the insinuation. "Goodnight, Malcolm."

**

The next morning saw everyone as well rested as they could be. It felt good have a nice hot bath and sleep in a bed, now they got breakfast. Varric was a good host and had arranged everything; he even managed to be pleasant with Sebastian. The fact that Sebastian still seemed shaken was very strange to Varric until he heard what happened. Malcolm was not only a possessed mage but had a talent no other Spirit Healer could claim. Varric felt a sense of pride for Malcolm, he'd always been a good kid, and understood Sebastian's behavior, his faith had been shaken.

There was an awkward silence around the table. These were very different people that were united in a mission to help one of their own. Khrys had an explosive meeting with Solas that revealed and confirmed some of his intentions, Bree had even more insight into his intentions, and the biggest reveal was Malcolm. Everyone at the table heard the story: Malcolm was an abomination, of a sort, and also appeared able heal death. Bree sat with Jean and the Prince was the very image of propriety and etiquette with her. Malcolm sat on the other side of her and tried his best to look like the confident mage he always had been but the steady look from Declan and Fenris made him uncomfortable. Fenris, who had always been a friend to him despite his aversion to mages, looked at him with disdain and Declan gave him the wary look that Templars gave mages they didn't trust. The obvious distrust from those who had trusted him before hurt.

Malcolm wanted to go home, back to the Wilds where they knew him as a powerful mage and healer, someone who protected them like he would his own family. The Chasind were his family, he loved one, he wanted to go home.

"You alright, Kid?" Varric asked Malcolm who stood by himself watching the horses and items being loaded onto the ship they were about to depart on.

"They don't trust me anymore," he lamented after a minute. "Even Khrys."

"Look, Kid, your Dad was troubled and I understand that what he did he wasn't necessarily in control of…but you…as long as I've known you you've never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it. And if you've been like this since you were a kid then we all owe you an apology for never noticing and a thank you for not being homicidal." Malcolm smiled and laughed softly. "There see…I made you laugh."

Malcolm chuckled again and looked down at the Dwarf. "Thank you, Varric, and you have nothing to apologize to me for," he said offering his hand.

Varric shook it firmly. "You're always welcome here, Kiddo, any time you need a safe place." Malcolm had to take his leave as the last of the passengers were loaded and gave Varric a very Antivan bow and smirk. Varric rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for your words, Viscount Varric," he said with the deep bow and then left to Varric muttering his annoyance to his overblown exit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a pretty big reveal. Malcolm's little secret has been waiting in the wings for a while and I tried to seed little hints along the way. The music for this chapter are Beauty of the Beast by Nightwish for Solas and Khrys and The Devil and the Huntsman by Daniel Pemberton (the version from King Arthur: Legend of the Sword) for the fight scene.


	20. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this one took forever and I apologize for the delay. I call that a lynchpin chapter and everything is coming together or unfolding. I took my time so I didn't miss anything. Thank you for the comments and kudos. I appreciate it. :)
> 
> One or two specific songs used here  
> Dream by Imagine Dragons for Khrys and Michel  
> I See Fire by Ed Sheeran for Dorian

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Chapter Twenty: Fallout

 

By the time Khrys and her party made it back to Skyhold she was surprised to find that Dorian wasn't back yet. The silence for everyone was awkward and Malcolm kept to himself. Bree was the only one beside Cole that talked to him like all was normal. It was strange to know that Malcolm was possessed but Bree had known him since they were little and he was the closest thing she'd have to a brother. Even with everyone looking at him with distrust she looked at him as she always had, like family.

Jean had read in letters about her and her family but it wasn't until now that he saw how close she was to Malcolm. It unnerved him to a point. Varric had given her a horse and he missed having her riding with him. It was a selfish thought really; he liked having her in his arms or in front of him so he could smell her hair. She still rode by him, flirted with him, stole kisses when no one was looking. He'd never liked someone more than he did her. She could ride with better skill than any Chevalier he'd ever met and she wasn't afraid to stand up and fight. Bree was elegant and lovely, he couldn't believe his luck.

The possessed mage was a cause for concern but Malcolm didn't appear to be a threat. He actually scouted with him for a time after landing in Jader. There they had collected a contingent of Chevaliers led by Etienne who was none too pleased when his Prince decided to escort them all the way back to Skyhold. The black haired Chevalier grumbled but rode with them.

**

Michel panted and settled on his back, he wasn't as young as he used to be but after so long without Khrys he had to give her a satisfying welcome home. He insured they had a nice quiet dinner and private time for themselves. "Never be away from me that long again, Love," he said as she cuddled up next to him on his right. A sheen of sweat covered them both and she kissed his chest, tasting the salt.

"You trying to make an honest woman of me, Michel?" she giggled.

"All you have to do is say yes, belle," he replied. Khrystabel de Chevin always did have a nice ring to it but she liked them as they were. He finally controlled his breathing and she smiled. "I think I'm getting old."

"Hopefully not too old, Vhenan," she grinned and deftly moved from her snuggle position and on top of him straddling his waist.

Michel purred with a smile at the beautiful figure sitting on him. "How can I resist you?" he asked and she leaned down kissing him.

The breeze that came through the open door of the terrace made the night perfectly comfortable. Skyhold was always cold but it was summer. Khrys and Michel weren't sleeping they were talking, talking about everything that had happened. Not much had taken place in Skyhold except every Chevalier passed through. The girls in Skyhold went gaga over Etienne whenever he blew through. It appeared that all the commotion happened elsewhere and Michel just listened, his right hand moving up and down on her arm.

He heard everything she said, the revelation about Malcolm was huge and going to cause problems but his concern was for the girl he considered a daughter. "Is Bree okay?"

"She seems to be," she smiled at his concern for her. "From what she said it sounds like the binding with Mythal. We'll see."

Michel was starting to drift off happy that she was with him again. "I'm just glad everyone is home and safe."

Khrys couldn't help but worry about Dorian. He'd left before they did, he should have returned ahead of them. Tevinter was a long way off but not having any word was unsettling. "Dorian's not…have you heard anything?"

"No," he replied. "Sleep, Love, we'll see in the morning." Khrys was worried but being with Michel made her feel better and lulled off to sleep on his chest.

**

Anders and Tess sat on couch in Khrys' quarters looking a bit like a couple that had been caught in the act. They'd known that eventually someone would learn the secret and the bill finally came due. Neither of them were particularly happy with how Khrys and company found out what Malcolm was but it was fitting that he used it to protect people.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Khrys asked but her decibel was a little louder than she would have liked. Anders and Tess glanced at each other. "Did you not trust us? Trust me?"

"We didn't trust anyone."

Khrys blinked and Anders looked away from her to his wife. Here was a hit of shame, not for Malcolm but for not trusting someone who'd helped him despite it all. "I don't even know how to respond to that." She said and Anders stood pacing, it was his decision not to tell anyone that didn't absolutely have to know. "I hate to point it out like this but he is an abomination, Anders, you know how dangerous they can be."

"He is not an abomination," he snarled a little harsher than he intended, for over 10 years he'd been defending his son. He wasn't like he was. "He's…not really…not like me. He's been like this since…probably since he was born."

The rules of possession and magic were clear, what he was staying shouldn't be possible. There was no way Anders should have been able to go 10 years as he did but it was apparent this family liked to challenge the norm. "How is that possible? Demons can only effect after power manifests in the fade."

Anders was getting more and more irritated. "It's not a demon it's Justice!" His voice was raised and then he bit it back trying to calm himself down. The squeeze on his arm from Tess was a gentle reminder to stay calm.

"That's what Malcolm said," Khrys went on seeing that Anders was getting irritated. She didn't care if he got raging mad he should have told them. "But I don't get it. How could it be Justice? Justice left you in the Fade and attacked the Nightmare." It was a question that obviously made Anders mad and she could see it.

"We don't know," Tess answered so Anders didn't have to. "When he was a baby we knew something was different but the day he came into his powers we saw it."

Khrys looked at Anders who seemed very uncomfortable about this line of questioning. The behavior between father and son became clear now and her heart went out to him. "That's why you and Malcolm don't get along," she deduced. "It's not because of Malcolm it's because of Justice."

Anders stood with an irritated growl. "They're the same person," he snapped and began to pace. It angered him always and he never got an answer. "But…yes. I want to know why Justice took my son."

"Have you asked?" Khrys asked before she could stop herself and Anders had the reaction she anticipated.

"I hadn't thought of it until now, Inquisitor, thank you," Anders retorted and both Tess and Khrys sighed heavily. "He doesn't know," he added giving her the honest answer.

Khrys brow furrowed. "How could he not?"

"They are not two different entities. They are one. A true blending, he has no idea what Justice wanted." Anders explained with an irritated tone. "My son is not an abomination, Khrys, he's something else but he's not a danger to anyone."

"He kicked Solas' ass and made it look as easy as breathing," she said flatly and Anders looked proud. He had every right to be, Malcolm was a considerable mage and a rogue.

"He's a powerful mage. He's young and he's only going to get stronger."

"And then there's the whole healing the dead thing," she put in and that got the attention of both. Tess looked at her husband and he gave her the same expression. "Oh yeah…your son revived a recently dead Sebastian Vael." The look on their faces told her that they knew he had that talent as well. "You knew that too didn't you?"

"He's never done that on a person…a few animals," Tess said and Anders blinked looking a bit confused and shocked.

The first time Malcolm resuscitated a fox, then Lily's wolf but the thought of being able to do that on a human was head spinning. No mage could do that. "Are you sure he was dead?"

Khrys felt like yelling at him but she didn't, he wasn't there and this was unusual. "Yes, Anders, he died in my arms…he was dead."

Gerard appeared from the steps. "Inquisitor, you're needed downstairs. It's about the…," the Orlesian paused and made eye contact with Anders. "It's about young Malcolm."

**

Downstairs there was a problem in the main hall. It appeared to be between the Templars and the Mages, the feud would never end. Michel and Cullen stood between them. Bree and Cole were standing with Malcolm, and Lysette had a handful of Templars with her. Michel was in the middle.

"Lysette, you need to leave. You will not take any action without the Inquisitor's say so," Michel warned. "Malcolm has lived here nearly his entire life and I won't let you persecute him."

Malcolm looked at the Templars across from him. He knew them, knew Lysette well and she wanted to take him away. He didn't want to create problems he just wanted to go home. The Chasind didn't care, Lily didn't care. "He needs to come with us. I order you to stand aside."

"You don't give me orders, Lysette, I know you're unsettled but you need to be patient," he hissed firmly in reply.

"What's going on here?" Khrys asked. Anders didn't need a novel; he knew exactly what was going on. The Templars had deferred to their original mandate.

"He's an abomination," Lysette barked boldly at Michel, "seize him!" Michel held up a hand to tell the Templars to stop and keep Bree from stepping in.

Anders moved quickly and got in the Knight-Captain's face. "If you touch my son, Knight-Captain, I'll kill you."

_"Like father like son,"_ Lysette thought and glared to Anders. "Step back!"

Defying Templars was old hat for Anders, he could match them if he had to but he knew Lysette…she was a friend. "If any one of you Templar bastards makes a move I'll kill you all!" Anders promised his voice carrying a growl. He was ready to fight.

"Captain, stand down," Cullen ordered trying to avert an all-out massacre. Anders would probably get a few of them before the power was nullified but Malcolm would destroy everything.

"He's an abomination!" The Templar shouted again and noticed that Gerard and Declan were standing with the Inquisitor.

"And I said stand down, now!" Cullen roared in his commander voice. In that moment Cullen became an enormous figure in the room. Lyrium, serving Templar or not, Cullen Rutherford was still the boss. All the Templars dropped to one knee. Cullen would always be Knight-Commander to them.

This was the reason they'd told no one. Malcolm sighed. "I'll go."

"No you won't," Cullen barked firmly giving the crystal clear notion that it wasn't up for debate. "We have quite a bit to discuss, young man," he said and returned him attention to the Templars. "If any Templar acts against this young man they will deal personally with me and I will punish you all."

"Commander, you do-…" Malcolm began but Cullen's hand silenced him. Cullen was clearly irritated with the Templars.

"Captain, you are dismissed."

Lysette held Cullen's stare. "This is a mistake, Commander."

Their behavior irritated him. They didn't ask or wait for an explanation, Lysette went straight for the extreme. "Be quiet. Leave, all of you." The Templars left with the exception of Gerard and Declan. Cullen patted Malcolm's shoulder and looked at Anders. "I think we all need to talk."

**

"Get your things together, Mal, we're leaving," Anders said and Malcolm remained where he was. Anders turned toward him. "Malcolm?"

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving."

"Why in Andraste's nickers would you stay?" his father demanded. "You have Templars guarding you now! They don't trust you anymore and they've known you since you were a child!"

"Because Khrys still needs me."

Anders' head spun. This was fucking Justice's doing. That goddamn spirit's overworked sense of duty and honor. "You have Templars shadowing you! Lysette wanted to string you up, why the fuck would you stay here?!" he was loud and angry.

"Because I trust Khrys," he replied and paused as he thought longer, "that…the Relic downstairs is dangerous. Solas will use it to sunder the veil and I'm not going to let that happen. They can put as many Templars on me as they want but this is where I need to be."

Anders was proud of his son more than anything. His actions got the Prince of Starkhaven off his back after all these years but he couldn't help but want to protect him. He could see Justice in him, the spirit that he'd spent so much time with fit much better with his son then it did with him. His question though remained unanswered no matter how many times he asked, Malcolm just didn't know. He turned to Tess who had already said she was staying on for a bit. "It seems my love and my son have abandoned me…you've a message for Lily?"

"Not one that you want to relay," he answered and Anders snorted. "I'll give you a letter."

Anders furrowed his brow, dabbling in his son's love life was not his favorite duty but was necessary sometimes. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Malcolm looked down and sighed. "A while," he said sounding sad about that, lonely actually.

"Then come home, son."

"I will," he replied. "Just night right now. Tell her I love her and I'll see her soon."

When Malcolm left Anders turned to face the dresser in the chamber they'd been given. He roared angrily and slapped the candlesticks off it. He leaned on it and felt his wife's hands on his back that eventually wrapped around him. "They all know now." Anders relented and she felt his shoulders slump giving into the truth. "They all know."

"It's okay, Love, he had to," she said and it didn't make him feel better. "He's fine."

"They wanted to kill him out there, Tess, narrow-minded as they always are. They've known him since he was a child. They'll never accept him and they'll never trust him." Anders was clearly hurt by what he saw between the Templars and everyone else, then insulted by his son having Templars assigned to him like he was in the Circle. "He shouldn't have to be shadowed."

Tess turned him around so she could look at him. "You may not like it but Malcolm understands, he's kept his secret for almost 18 years and he did what he had to do to protect people he loved."

Anders just couldn't let his prior experience with Templars and spirits go. "I know that and I'm proud of him for that. I trust Cullen and Khrys but not the rest. They'll try to make him tranquil at the first chance they get."

Tess offered him a smile, she didn't like the treatment of her son either but one of them needed to remain calm. "You need tea…you're too tense," she said trying to calm him down and cheer him but Anders glared.

"I don't need tea, Tess," he hissed.

"Sit down, Anders," she ordered and he glanced at his wife. Anders couldn't hide the smile when she ordered him around. He sat with a huff. "You need to relax, Love."

**

Dorian had never been so happy to see Skyhold. There were more Orlesian banners than Herald that he was used to seeing and his brow furrowed as they approached the mountain fortress. Thom was at the gate and in the middle of scolding a soldier about something but stopped when the three of them crossed the bridge.

"I was beginning to think you'd never return," Thom said as they crossed under the portcullis.

"Did you miss me, Thom?" Dorian smirked and Thom scoffed.

"Like an illness," Thom retorted and Dorian laughed.

"Anything happen while we were gone?"

Thom hesitated as the three of them dismounted at the stables. "Uhh…quite a bit actually. You'll want to see the Inquisitor."

Bull looked between Dorian and Balian. They still didn't speak socially like they used to and they went their separate ways, Dorian up to the Inquisitor and Balian to the undercroft with his damaged armor.

"Dorian," Khrys smiled. It was a relief to see him back after how long he had been gone. She'd worried about him but with Bull, and apparently Balian also, very little would touch him without going through them. He looked different though and her joy was replaced by concern. He looked…older…his hair was greyer and he looked tired, not too unusual for someone coming back from months on the road but there was something more that she couldn't put her finger on. "Are you okay?" she asked falling into a hug from him.

The mage smiled and waved her off before she hugged him. "Nothing a good long bath can't cure," he assured. He was lying. Balian was still distant and the threat of Tevinter was not something he was looking forward to sharing. "I want to hug my daughter, take a bath, and go to sleep."

"What happened in Tevinter?" she asked and Dorian sat down on the couch.

Dorian loved the couch in her chambers and let out a long tired moan. "Oh we have a major problem up north. You want me to save it for when I have to warn Cullen or do you want to be disappointed twice?"

Khrys chuckled slightly. "Give me the abridged version."

"An insane Blood Mage and her lover, a General who commands ten thousand men by the way, are bent on starting a war with southern Thedas with or without the Empire's blessing."

"That's insane."

"Yes it is," he replied. "But even Gaspard would have trouble with ten thousand or more soldiers and mages."

"Tea?"

Dorian didn't want tea he wanted to get drunk. Very drunk. "Wine. The whole bottle."

"Are you okay?"

"No," he said after a long minute.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." The truth was he didn't know what would happen if he let it all out. His relationship with Balian was broken and it was killing him.

"Dorian, what happened? What happened to you?" she asked and sat down next to him.

"I don't want to talk about it, Khrys," he snarled and stood forcing his tired body to get up and pace. His mind changed as soon as he said it. He waited a moment before continuing. "On our way back we were attacked…Balian fought like the knight he is and…," the fear was still real, he nearly lost him completely, "he took two crossbow bolts to the chest, he was dying it was beyond my ability to heal. I used blood magic."

Khrys blinked, shocked. "You what?"

Dorian hung his head and kept his back to her. "I couldn't lose him, Khrys. I knew a spell that would take from me to give to him." There was another pause but she heard his voice change. "He won't even speak to me now."

Khrys stood and moved in front of him just in time to see Dorian wipe a tear away. "Dorian."

"The man I love won't even speak to me because I saved his life." She pulled him into a hug and Dorian tried to keep himself together. He didn't want to break down now and he almost did. He let himself sob for a few seconds before bottling it back up and pushing back and composing himself. "Where's Bree?"

"Dorian-…"

"And why are there so many Orlesian banners here?"

Khrys didn't want to answer that. She didn't want to tell him that Solas had kidnapped his daughter, who was visiting the Prince of Orlais at the time, and that Krem had died in the process. She didn't want to tell him that Solas had bound her to him, that Malcolm was an abomination and has been for his entire life, that Malcolm could also heal death, or that Fenris had the chance to kill Solas and didn't take it. She didn't want to tell him any of this especially after what he had just told her.

Her face must have given her away because Dorian's narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Khrys…don't tell me."

She sighed. "He's here."

"The Prince?" he clarified.

"Dorian, a lot has happened. You may want to sit down for this and try to stay calm." And so Dorian sat as she told him everything from the beginning to the end, what happened with Bree in Orlais, the dream from Solas, the journey to the tower the was shrouded by magic, Malcolm's secret exposed and his hidden talent. But that was only her side…his anger didn't spark until after he heard about what happened to Bree while in Solas' custody.

**

"Gabriella!" Dorian called as he stormed through Skyhold. Krem was dead. Bull was probably going to break something because of that. Jean was here and obviously too close to Bree for comfort. Bree had been kidnapped by Solas and bound by magic and Malcolm was an abomination. His jaunt to Tevinter didn't seem so bad after learning this. "Gabriella!"

Khrys trotted after him largely to prevent him from being too overbearing and saying something he'd regret later. She slapped Balian's arm on the way by after the Elf was disturbed by Dorian's shout. "You and I get to talk later, come on," she hissed to her clansman and he trotted after her. They hoofed it up the steps to Vivienne's old haunt as he shouted her name again.

"Dad!" Bree shrieked and bounded to him. She would always be a Daddy's girl and everyone knew it. "I'm so glad you're back."

Dorian was in protection mode, she seemed okay and he pushed back from her to take a look. She looked as she always had: bright and beautiful. "Are you alright?" he asked putting his hand on the spot where Solas' invisible mark was. "Your mother told me."

The look Bree directed toward her mother was a teenager's accusation of 'how could you'. Khrys shrugged sympathetically. "I'm fine, dad. He didn't hurt me."

Jean, standing up the couch he and Bree had been sitting on, did not escape him. The Orlesian was quiet and his expression hard to read behind the mask. Dorian ignored him for the time being and looked his daughter over. She appeared to be just fine but seemed to have aged in the last few months, she was sill his little girl but she'd taken to carrying herself with the confidence her mother had. He felt the ring on her thumb and look at it briefly. An Orlesian ring that matched Jean-Fredric's personal sigil. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked and she nodded like a teen with a father that was smothering. "I am so sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry about Krem." Bree and Krem were close, good friends and it didn't surprise him to hear Krem was one that went with her to her meeting with the Prince.

So far the Prince had said nothing, it wasn't a cowardly act it was a respectful one. He already knew that Dorian didn't like him and he'd prefer to not make matters too much worse. "Daddy, I'm fine. Jean lost his squire and we lost Ramelle but they all came and got me."

Dorian now turned his attention to the Prince standing proud but quiet. "I thought I made myself clear." He said firmly and Khrys' sigh could be heard throughout the room.

"Dad, he saved me," Bree defended but Dorian held up a hand to silence her.

"Gabriella, you might want find a better place for that ring." Dorian said in a fatherly tone of displeasure before glaring back to the Prince. "You see my daughter in secret after I expressly told you to stay away from her, she is not for you. I will not tell you again!"

Jean stepped closer to him and his expression translated through his mask: determination. "That is not your decision," he growled back.

"If you come near my daughter again I'll have you killed," Dorian threatened and to Jean's credit he didn't back down.

"I don't know what I did to offend you but let me make something perfectly clear, Lord Dorian, it is not your choice, it's _hers_. If she wishes to see me, I will accommodate."

Dorian's jaw set. "Get out," he growled angrily.

"Dorian," Khrys chastised.

He glared at her and pointed a finger to silence her. "Be quiet," he snapped. "You did this! You let her go out there, if she'd stayed here she'd have been safe, away from Solas and away from him!" He indicated harshly to Jean.

"Dad-…," Bree began and he turned his anger to her.

"You are not to see him again, Gabriella Lavellan, do you understand me?" The use of her first and middle name was reserved for when he was really angry.

"Dorian, stop!"

"You don't own her," Jean defended raising his voice and turning Dorian's anger on him once again.

It was all Dorian could do to keep his magic in check. One wrong temper flare and the Prince would be roasted…as mad as he was sense still asserted itself. "I am giving you my last warning. Do not come near my daughter again."

Jean stepped even closer, they were matched in height but Jean had larger mass. "Don't threaten me," he snarled.

"I already am."

"Dad!"

Khrys had enough of this and stepped toward them both pushing Dorian back. "Alright, everybody stop! That's enough."

Dorian gave Khrys a firm hand telling her to leave him alone and kept his focus on Jean. "Leave Skyhold or I will have Captain Rainier throw you out," Dorian growled and walked away.

Khrys blinked, shocked by the display of full on anger.

"Mama?" Bree's voice sounded like a plea. A teenage girl who's love was crushed.

"Your Grace, I apologize." Jean looked as if he was barely containing his own anger, he hadn't backed down and Khrys appreciated that. She moved to talk to Dorian. "Stay here. I'll go talk to him."

Balian held up and hand stopping her. "I'll go." He said. "I think this is my fault."

Jean sighed pointedly, clearly irritated and turned to the Inquisitor. He didn't know what to say right now that wasn't going to come out very wrong and sound like he wanted to abscond with Bree within the hour. He gave a single acknowledging nod to Khrys for her apology and stepped to Bree taking her right hand and kissing the back of it. "Ma bichette," he said with a smile and bowed to her before he left.

**

Dorian was ashamed of his temper but he couldn't quite let it go. He'd yelled at Khrys, yelled at Bree, and he'd threatened the heir of Orlais. It was a banner day for Dorian of House Pavus.

"Are you taking your anger at me out on them?" Balian asked bluntly causing Dorian to turn. Dorian was mad and Balian could see it. Balian felt responsible for this, he'd pushed him away after what happened in Tevinter.

"Someone's feeling very self-important today," Dorian hissed.

Balian raised his eyebrows. "And they call me surly," he scoffed.

Dorian huffed loudly clearly annoyed by a multitude of things. "You barely spoke to me for nearly a month, Ser Balian, what do you want?"

Yes, Balian had a part to play in this but he was working through it. "Are you really prepared to lose Bree because you're having a temper tantrum?" It was brutal and honest.

Dorian's slow turn was a sign of his deep seated anger, anger that had been simmering since Tevinter. "I beg your pardon?" he asked and then held up and hand before Balian could answer. "I don't remember asking for your input. I saved your life in Tevinter and you drop me like a rock, now you think you have the right to tell me my business with my family?! My countrymen tried to kill Khrys, the only true friend that I have in this world, my daughter was kidnapped by a maniac while in the presence of that fucking Chevalier, Krem was murdered by that same maniac, and Malcolm…Malcolm…the poor kid is an abomination and none of us knew it." There was a pause as Balian simply listened. "I lost you. I nearly lost her and Khrys…"

Balian was quiet for a moment before responding to part of that. "If they really want to see each other they're not going to ask for your permission, Dorian, and you can't stop them."

"Watch me try."

Balian shook his head. "Defiant until the end," he snorted. "You told me once that your parents tried to force you to marry and when you wouldn't comply they tried to change you with magic. How is doing this any better than what they tried to do?" Dorian glared but couldn't argue with his point. "If you want to be petty then continue on your path and the only one you'll have to worry about is yourself because you'll have chased everyone else away. And one more thing you should remember, that _fucking Chevalier_ crossed two countries to save your daughter."

**

Dorian was tired and highly annoyed. Too much had happened and he hadn't handle it well. Balian had a point, Khrys had a point, he really shouldn't have threatened the heir of Orlais, and should never have yelled at Bree. He took a long bath, changed his clothes, and sighed heavily.

The knock on the door pulled him from running the disastrous day over and over again in his mind. "Yeah?" he sighed again. The door opened and was surprised to see his daughter. "Bree?" She walked to him and hugged him tight like she always did. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"He's not a bad man, Dad, just give him a chance," she said quietly. "Please."

Dorian sighed again as he held her, he didn't want to fight anymore and Balian was right. "I am so sorry I wasn't here to protect you."

"I'm okay. They came and got me," she said. "Jean included. Please try to get to know him, Daddy."

Dorian didn't want to fight and relented for now. "I'll try." It was easier to say then he thought it would be. Jean did cross countries to save her and didn't back down when he was challenged.

Her beaming smile was all he needed to feel better and she pushed back from him. "You look tired."

"That's because I am tired," he replied with a sigh that told her just how tired he really was.

"What happened? Mama mentioned blood magic to save Balian."

He made a note to talk to Khrys about that later. He'd have preferred for that to not pass to his daughters ears. "That's the long and short of it," he replied and pointed a finger at her. "Do not use blood magic, Child, do you understand me?"

**

Balian dropped his ruined armor off in the undercroft and heard both Dagna and Harrit's apprentice Samuel groan at the damage. Silverite was the best armor out there and it was extremely durable, the crossbow bolt punched clean through. They took some measurements and sent him on his way.

He took an open room, which was strange considering he'd slept in Dorian's bed for the past six years every time he's been in Skyhold. In Galle, he picked up some new clothes that weren't stained with blood but if he was staying in Skyhold like he told Dorian in the Silent Plains he was going to need some more stuff. He didn't like fighting with Dorian. He didn't like being without him. The silence he was enjoying while changing his shirt was interrupted by a loud knocking.

He opened the door and promptly groaned. Khrys' presence was going to annoy the hell out of him. "Oh, no, I am really not in the mood, Lethallan."

Khrys closed the door behind her and shook her head. "Then you better get in the mood, Lethallin. What happened?"

His annoyance was evident as he pulled the black shirt on. "I know he told you already, Khrys."

She nodded hearing the abridged version. "He dabbled in blood magic to save your life. My question is: what's your problem?"

Her clansman growled, irritated at being asked the same question over and over. He didn't have a good answer, just a feeling. "It's blood magic, Khrys, remember what happened with Yoren?"

Khrys' looked confused. The only thing he could possibly be referencing was a clan member who experimented and was subsequently possessed. "For one Dorian is twice his age, two, he's far more stable and one blood magic spell's not going to undo him."

"You don't know that."

He had always been stubborn and she resented the inference on Dorian's behalf. "I _do_ know that and so do you. Don't lose him, Bail, you gave up your post for him and I know how you feel about Sebastian and his family."

Balian was growing more annoyed with the topic and huffed. "I don't want to talk about this."

Khrys growled her frustration. "Fenedis, you are stubborn."

"Then mind your own business," he snarled irritably.

"He is my business, Balian, don't hurt him," she snapped at her clansman. "I know you love him or you wouldn't be so upset."

Her scarred cousin had a temper and was very stubborn. He preferred to work his issues out alone but that usually made his temper worse. This situation was no different. He growled loudly. "Can't you people just fucking leave me alone?" She blinked watching him become more and more aggravated.

"Bail-…"

"No!" he barked cutting her off. "Just leave me alone…I nearly died, Lethallan," he said and his tone softened slightly, "for the second time in my life it nearly ended. Dorian, you, Bull…just…just leave me alone."

This was the heart of the matter. Khrys didn't want to leave him alone but there was nothing she could say, Balian had already nearly died once and now it was a second time. Dorian using blood magic was only part of his issue and certainly there was guilt for what happened to Sebastian at the hands of Solas. She didn't protest when he left the room but she didn't like it either.

The tavern was as busy as it normally was but with a few new faces, one was the Chevalier that followed the Price wherever he went. Etienne, young and lustful, predictably drank and flirted along with a few other Orlesian bannermen. Some of the Inquisition bristled at them but Ariel kept everyone in line, she wasn't running a whorehouse and kept her maids working and away from the intoxicated Chevaliers who wanted to play.

Balian had his feet propped up on the unoccupied chair watching the proceedings in the tavern, his eyes on the Chevaliers at the other side of the room. Etienne, the very handsome Orlesian, wasn't being crude just a bit of a nuisance, splitting his time between the card game and the girls serving him.

Lots of Fereldans and Orlesian in the same room with ale was not a good combination so he limited his drinking in case he needed to help settle something.

A shadow loomed to his right. "Wyvern-killer," Bull's deep voice greeted. He'd spent the majority of his time since he was back drinking coming to terms with the death of Krem. He'd spoken to Bree who felt like it was her fault but Bull didn't blame her.

Balian rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Will you stop calling me that?" he grumbled as the Qunari pulled the chair out from under his feet. The Elf glared at him as the giant sat down with a laugh.

"What? You asked me to not call you Balian the Bear, Bearkiller, or Mi'Herellan," Bull replied while the Elf re-situated himself after the loss of his footstool.

The curse Balian muttered was as close to 'fuck you' as he could get but Bull just chuckled. "What do you want?"

The Qunari shook his head. "Never thought I'd find someone as sullen and grouchy as Thom…I was wrong," Bull said and received another annoyed eye roll from Balian.

"Here you go, Balian." The young maid said bringing him another pitcher of what he was drinking.

Balian smiled with a nod. "Thank you, Asta." Bull watched the girl blush and skitter away with a giggle.

"How the hell do you do that?" Bull asked and he Balian chuckled softly.

"Charm over crude behavior," he replied simply. Bull was crude and loud where Balian took a softer, smoother approach.

Bull blinked to the simple explanation. "Every barmaid, servant, and kitchen wench we encountered from Nevarra to Tevinter acted just like _that_ ," Bull said sounding both jealous and impressed at the same time. "How…?"

He'd heard this question before…several times. In Starkhaven he was renowned for his politeness and kindness and he attracted _everyone_. "When they know you're unavailable they try harder. If you're polite to those who serve everyone else, it makes them try even harder. Smile, bow, open doors, all the while never touching them."

He had that down to a science and Bull was still impressed. "Fuck…how often do you do this?"

The Elf took a long drink emptying the cup. "I don't do anything," he said and poured another one from the pitcher.

"I know that's what I mean. Is it just women?"

Balian was equal opportunity and shook his head. "Men like it when you play hard to get. Women like it when they know you're off the market." Contrary to the current belief for some he was still off the market.

"Bullshit, it can't be that simple."

The chuckle from the Elf was enough to make Bull glare. "There is a very persistent barmaid in Starkhaven named Ginny who would disagree and when I met Dorian I declined his first offer and look where I am now."

"In a tavern by yourself while he's in his room by himself," Bull delivered flatly, not mincing words.

Balian paused mid drink and glowered at the pointed comment. "Let it go, Bull," he said and finished off what was left in his cup.

"I will when you pull your head out of your ass."

Balian slammed the cup down on the table that would have been heard across the tavern had it not been for the noise. "I said let it go," he snarled.

Bull shook his head. "What bug is up your ass? It's been weeks."

Balian angrily tossed the cup causing it shatter next to him and he stood. "Leave me alone, damnit," he left the Qunari there and went to the bar. Ariel gave him a concerned look.  
"Everything alright, Balian?" she asked and Balian shook his head.

"I'm sorry about the cup. Can I get another?" he asked and she smiled sweetly with a nod. Balian looked over at the noisy group. "Chevaliers giving you trouble?"

The red head shook her head. "Nah, they're good," she replied with a smile. "The girls like the dark haired one but the Prince keeps them in check." She cocked her head and Balian downed the drink in one long gulp and asked for another. "Honestly, Balian, are you okay?"

He just wanted to be left alone. Dorian had left him alone but was heartbroken and it was hard for him to see. He didn't answer when she poured the next one and he downed it just as quick, tapping for another. She didn't fight him and gave him another. He had a bad temper when he was drunk but she would cut him off before that.

Everyone had a point even him. With so much on his mind adding the near death and blood magic just added to the mess. He didn't tell anyone but, like the first one, he remembered it all. The pain and fear. The dreams were there too…he preferred not to sleep. Dorian helped make the nightmares go away but he had been without him for weeks. After the third rapid drink he made his choice.

**

There was no knock at the door so when it opened it startled Bree for a moment. Balian read the situation and allowed a smile. Dorian was asleep with his head on his daughters lap. It was a heartwarming sight.

Bree held up her hand to silence Balian as he quietly moved toward the bed. She carefully got out of the bed taking, Balian's hand for help. She kissed his cheek and smelled the ale. Her father resorted to Blood Magic to save his life and it hurt him when Balian pushed him away. Balian being here now told her that he still loved him. She smiled at him as she quietly left.

Balian dropped his shirt and boots. He'd never stopped loving him. The only person to make the pain go away was this mage. He carefully crawled into bed and went to sleep.

Dorian woke to a familiar smell and the feel of arms around him. At first he thought he was dreaming but it struck him that his lover was there. He smelled like ale but he was there. "Are you drunk?"

He'd had several drinks but he wasn't drunk, he knew what he was doing. "No," Balian muttered sleepily. Dorian turned over and in the low light of the fire could see Balian. He loved him, plain and simple. "Ar lath ma."

Dorian smiled at the elven declaration of love and responded with a gentle and loving kiss. It felt like all the wrong in the world was final righted having him back and Dorian kissed his bare chest where the bolts had been. Balian couldn't help but remember, the pain, the shock…looking down and seeing the bolt. For the second time Falon'Din nearly had him. He closed his eyes to shut it out but the memory melted away with Dorian's touch.

**

As a result of the 'conversation' with Cullen and Khrys and his parents the compromise was that Malcolm now had a chaperone, a Templar was with him at all times just like they were with Khrys. Cullen picked the Templars. Of course, Anders kicked and screamed but that was the compromise. Malcolm never hurt anyone that didn't provoke him but he was extremely dangerous.

He had spoken with near everyone with varying reactions. Most were able to come to grips with it, the Templars were an issue but it was an expected one, and Fenris wouldn't even speak to him. But Dorian, Dorian had been a mentor to him and a very good friend. Dorian embraced the role of fatherhood and it showed with everyone around him, especially to Malcolm. "Dorian," he said quietly. He found him in his haunt in the library leaving his shadow at the door. He didn't look the same as he did the last time hed seen him, he looked older.

Dorian turned to track the sound of his name. "Young man," he greeted and Malcolm sighed.

Dorian flipped another page in the book his was reading. Malcolm leaned on the bookshelf. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dorian asked plainly.

Malcolm swallowed, so far he'd seen both ends of the spectrum when it came to reactions. "You gonna make me say it?"

Dorian closed the book and gave him his full attention. "No need to apologize," he said. "You had a secret to protect." He gave Malcolm a critical eye. "I want to know something though…are you a danger?"

Malcolm sighed but answered him honestly. "Only to those who threaten the ones I love."

Dorian nodded at that, satisfied with it but things began to make sense now. "So this is why you and Anders don't get along. Makes sense now," he said. "May I speak to it?"

Malcolm was growing annoyed of the inference that he and Justice were two different entities. "We're the same person, a true blending, not like my father," he replied as he effortlessly switched over into the spirit.

The curiosity in him was hard to ignore. "Fascinating. Do you have its memories?"

Malcolm shook his head; the fade magic in the room was potent and strange. "Doesn't work like that," he answered. "Intuitions…dreams on occasions."

"You've been like this your whole life?" Dorian was shocked and appalled. "How did I not see it?"

"Varric said something along the same lines." The spirit vanished. "I've spent my entire life hiding it. I can count on one hand how many people know…I'm sorry one of them wasn't you."

Dorian gave him a smile but patted his left arm. "Khrys tells me that you gave Solas a moment of reflection."

The small shrug he always did was very nonchalant. "He killed Sebastian."

The perfect segway and Dorian nodded. "Ahh yes…there's the next question. How did you bring him back?"

Another shrug that was typical of him. "Takes considerable concentration and mana."

A very simple explanation from someone that was cocky when you got to know him. "Any other nifty tricks you're hiding, Malcolm?"

Malcolm chuckled. "No, I'm fresh out."

"Are you sure? No shapeshifting or body switching?" Malcolm chuckled again and shook his head.

"No," he answered again and asked the question he was thinking. Why did Dorian look so different? "What happened to you?"

Dorian's expression changed. "I made a choice," he felt better after Balian returned but the doubt was still there. It wasn't perfect but then again the relationship with Balian had never been totally smooth.

"Blood magic?" Dorian's expression narrowed. Malcolm was too smart for his own good. "Friend of mine is a Blood Mage, I can see the effect."

He was way too smart for his own good. "Which one's the adult here, you or me?"

Malcolm smirked. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Is it you who's the surly one or the spirit?" Dorian fired back then his expression changed to serious. "Thank you for protecting Khrys."

"I'll do anything to protect family."

**

The stable hands and workers weren't exactly sure what to do with the Prince of Orlais hanging around dirtying himself up caring for his own horse. Chevaliers, good ones, were very particular about their mounts and Thom had seen more of Jean and Etienne than anyone else.

Jean didn't mind caring for the horses and the Hart was an animal that still had him in awe. He brushed the thick and long forelock of Muir and patted his neck. The brush landed in the bucket with a thump but neither Muir nor Mau, behind him, cared.

"You know there are people who can do that for you." A voice said from the entrance to the barn, a sweet voice that he loved.

"Chevaliers care for their own horses," he responded and she chortled.

"Oh come on, Jean, you're hiding," she smiled and Jean sighed heavily. Bree was not wrong; he was avoiding some people so he didn't have to argue.

'An international incident' as his father's advisors would call it was the last thing he needed. "The last thing I need is to get into another argument with your father."

"He hasn't talked to you yet?"

"No. Why would he except to throw me out?"

She moved up next to him and ducked under his right arm getting between Jean and Muir. "Did you mean what you said to him though? About seeing me even if he disapproves?"

Muir was nicer than Mau and could care less about people being in her personal space. Jean gave her a wry smile. "Yes," he replied and kept up with his task but only briefly before he was completely distracted by the girl before him.

She put her hands on his chest moving them to feel the strong body under the tunic. "Why me? Why do you want to get into this much trouble because of me?"

"Because you're the only woman I ever want to see," he answered and leaned down to kiss her. He wanted to do more than kiss her and she wrapped her arms around him as he did the same. Muir shifted as he pressed her back too far and into the horse. They giggled as they broke from the kiss. Bree took his right hand and led him away from the horses toward the table in the corner.

She kissed him again, practically diving on him, standing on her tip toes in order to reach. He growled and lifted her up onto the bench, helping to equal the height.

Her hands went to his mask wishing to take it off but the clearing of a throat stopped their fooling around. Bree went beet read with embarrassment as Jean took a step back.

"Thom," she acknowledged nervously and slipped off the table she'd been perched on. "Sorry."

"Lady Bree. Your Grace." There was a slight smile on his face after they both went by.

**

A few days passed and things seemed to right themselves in Skyhold, mostly. The War Room had a decent number of people in it, more than Khrys would have liked to see but certain players were needed. Somehow everyone remained civil even though it was a group that was worse than the Council meeting. Dorian and Jean. Malcolm and everyone else. Balian and Dorian managed to make up apparently.

The meeting went well, all things considered. Dorian's news was the worst and the most important.

"Tevinter intends to conquer Thedas again by starting with Orlais," Khrys sighed heavily and looked at Jean, the very image of his father. "Better let your father know so he's prepared for it."

Jean gave a small nod. "Not to worry, Inquisitor, if Tevinter is mad enough to invade we'll send their sorry asses back across the border," he said with all the Orlesian bravado that made Dorian roll his eyes.

"Ask your father about Artus Cicero…it won't be that easy," Dorian informed sternly.

Jean didn't say anything to the Mage scolding him. "You'll want to keep an eye on Nevarra."

"They're an Inquisition ally."

"To screw Orlais? They'll jump on the wagon," Jean replied flatly.

"We'll need to let Sebastian know so he can keep an eye on the border," Cullen sighed fairly irritated with the new revelations. "Get Suledin and Echoback on alert."

"What about the assassin?" Michel asked directing the question to Khrys.

"I have a subject matter expert on the way," she answered. "See if he knows more."

"Did you find anything about Ross' family?" Thom asked Dorian and the mage shook his head.

"I had Mae ask around…didn't find anything. Not yet," Dorian replied and Thom huffed loudly still annoyed with the situation.

"Inquisitor, you have to let him out."

Khrys grumbled. "No, I really don't and we are not getting into this again," she replied firmly with a tone that told everyone except Thom that the conversation was over.

"Khrys, I vouch for him."

"Alright, damnit, enough. He stays where he is, he betrayed me, he's lucky he still has a head," she snarled back firmer than before. "We done here?" The group had fallen silent as Khrys and Thom locked horns again over the same thing but collectively they shook their heads. "Fine. Let's try to avert more war and the end of the world."

"Khrys!" Thom said sharply still annoyed and she growled loudly.

"Thom, stop," she ordered. "He betrayed me, I understand there might be extenuating circumstances but we haven't proven that yet. You took him in, trained him, vouched for him, you are blinded by how close you are and if this was any other person, you'd let them rot." The room was still and quiet, she was the Inquisitor now and it silenced Thom. He wasn't happy but he was silenced.

When Thom stormed off angrily the rest of the group gradually followed.

"Jean," Dorian called as the group dispersed. The Prince paused and failed to hide the look on his face even through his mask. His irritation was evident. "Stay a moment."

Khrys and Balian looked at each other and then at Dorian not really sure if it was wise to leave them alone. Dorian gave a slight nod to them indicating that he would behave himself and folded his arms across his chest.

"What?" Jean asked and let his tone reflect the fact he was annoyed.

Dorian let the tone go and ignored it. There was a long awkward silence between them before Dorian spoke up. "She's my old child-…," he began and grew annoyed with Jean's groan. Jean had already heard this in Starkhaven and started to say just that. "Be silent, Your Grace," Dorian he scolded in a fatherly tone, to Jean's credit he didn't challenge. "She's the only one I'll ever have so excuse me if I don't like suitors."

"I would never hurt her," Jean insisted and Dorian nodded having grudgingly come to that conclusion.

Dorian ate his share of humble pie. "I know that…and I apologize for questioning you on that before."

"Accepted," he replied simply.

"I've…," he began and trailed off before starting again. "I've never fought with her before…not really. I didn't like it, I didn't like fighting with Khrys, and I don't want to fight with you every step of the way." Jean just listened. "So we'll see how it goes."

"That's it?" Jean questioned. "'See how it goes?' Thanks for the confidence."

"Don't push it, Your Grace," Dorian growled and sighed heavily again, he didn't want to fight him. "She's happy when she's with you and that's what I want."

"Anything else?" Jean asked with an annoyed tone.

Dorian bit his tongue and gave a single shake of his head. Jean turned to leave but stopped when Dorian spoke up. "Your Grace," he called finding a way to make his title sound insignificant, "if you hurt her in any way-…"

Jean saved him the traditional fatherly threat. "I know."

Dorian allowed his dangerous smile. "You really don't," he replied. He couldn't think of everyone that would take a turn to draw and quarter him if anything happened to her and Dorian left it at that.

**

Zevran Arainai hadn't been to Skyhold in over a decade, the Antivan Crow spent the majority of his time in Antiva, Denerim, Amaranthine, and several years in the Korcari Wilds. He had no title among the Queen's court but he was, for all intents and purposes, her hitman. His time in the Wilds was at the behest of the Champion. He met Tess in Kirkwall and her borderline insane lover at the time, when she contacted him several years ago he gladly came to train her son despite him being a mage.

He'd spent years training Malcolm to become the best student he'd ever seen. Malcolm was a strange child but he learned quickly, extremely so, and it became obvious to Zevran just what the boy was. Zevran was one of a handful of people to know Malcolm's secret. Skyhold didn't seem different just a lot busier then he remembered. He dismounted his horse and looked around, it had changed considerably.

After seeing Jean off Bree actually felt lonely. She watched the contingent of Orlesians leave under the royal banner and wished that she could have gone with him. It was a step that her father gave his blessing but she'd rather be in Orlais, away from Skyhold so she wasn't used by Solas to get what he wanted.

"Hey," Malcolm greeted as Bree leaned on the ramparts looking down the valley. Skyhold was the most beautiful place in the world. "Thinking about jumping?"

"Ha ha," she replied and sighed. "Enjoying your chaperone?"

Malcolm glanced at the two Templars assigned to guard him, smirked and leaned back next to her folding his arm across his chest. "Oh yeah. I haven't had a babysitter since I was 5."

"Liar," she scoffed and Malcolm gave her a look. "Remember how many times Cullen and Fenris babysat us?"

Malcolm scoffed. "Fenris never babysat he guarded."

Apart they were good kids, together they were a menace. "Well you were a pain in the ass…he liked me."

There was a moment of silence between them. He'd gotten bits and pieces of her evolving love life and heard of Dorian's explosion. "So you doing okay? I heard about the eruption from your father." He was actually sorry he wasn't there for support but he was dealing with his own personal issues.

"I'm pretty sure the entire fortress heard…I'm fine," she replied but he wasn't convinced. "Mama and Michel like him…Dad can take his aversion to Chevaliers and stick it."

He laughed. "Oh defying Daddy…about time."

"You're a rebel too."

He laughed. "I'm not marrying an Orlesian Prince."

"Neither am I….not yet…I hope," she beamed, blushed, and smiled all at once and Malcolm shook his head.

"Oh, Maker, save us," he chuckled.

Bree changed he topic and gave him a sisterly look. "People still treating you like you have the plague?" She didn't like the welcome he'd received. The Templars nearly started their own Mage-Templar War with him.

Malcom had a sense of humor about it but Bree was certain it was a defense mechanism. "Serial killer," he joked.

She flashed a simple smile, it wasn't funny to her. "Can I talk to Justice?"

Malcolm effortlessly switched. "We're the same person, Bree, there's no difference. Except I'm a baritone like this."

His sense of humor could always make her giggle no matter the situation, even at his own expense. "And it is a lovely voice."

"I doubt your prince would approve," he smirked and saw her blush. "Making out in the barn…Skyhold's a small place."

"Ya know, Mal…just shut up," she blushed more as he switched back. "What about you? I always hear about Lily but none of us have ever met her."

Malcolm started to pace, a sign he didn't really want to talk about this. "Do you really want to meet her?"

"Of course I do."

He shrugged. "Come to the Wilds some time."

"Or you could bring her here?"

He hawked a laugh, mockingly. "Yes, a Chasind woman in Skyhold. That'll be fun."

"You ashamed?"

Shame wasn't the word, it was protectiveness. "Of her? No. You and everyone else? Yes," he joked.

"Come on, Mal." Malcolm cocked his head and looked off toward the interior of Skyhold. It was from a distance but he knew the man he saw. "What?" As soon as she said it he was heading for the stairs and she chased him. "Mal?"

Malcolm caught his target as he crested the top of the steps to the upper level. "Zev?" Malcolm greeted with a smile and the Elf looked up at his former student.

"Malcolm," Zevran smiled in return and gave him a hug.

Zevran, like any other Elf, didn't look his age. His long blonde hair had no sign of grey and worn in the same fashion as he always had. Bree vaguely recognized him and mostly it was the tattoo on his face. "Zevran trained me. Former Antivan Crow and he taught me all the tricks," Malcolm said to her as he took a step back from his mentor. "Zevran Arainai, Bree Pavus."

Zevran bowed to Bree and flashed a smile. "I met you once a long time ago, my dear, you were quite little then."

Bree smiled at the charming Elf. "I remember," she nodded and indicated his tattoo. "The tattoo."

"Ahh…yes…the ladies love it," he grinned and she chuckled.

"Why are you here?" Malcolm asked.

"At the behest of the lovely Inquisitor," he answered.

**

After he parted ways with Bree and Malcolm, Zevran made his way to the Keep. Khrys usually worked in her chambers but right now she was at Josephine's desk. Two or three letters from Sebastian and Gaspard made her sigh. Sebastian checking to see if everyone arrived safely and Gaspard wondering where the hell his son was, spy reports from Charter's people, reports from Cullen's people. Lots of messages from lots of people but she had to hand it to Michel, he'd kept her correspondence down to mild roar while she was gone.

The door opened at the far end drawing her attention. "Zevran Arainai," Khrys smiled at the Elf walking towards her like he owned the place. "Welcome back to Skyhold," She got up and met him half way with a hug.

"Ahh, Lady Inquisitor, you look as radiant as the last time I saw you," Zevran winked back and Khrys blushed. The last time she saw Zevran was 10 years ago and he'd shared her bed.  
"Last time you saw me I wasn't wearing anything, Zevran."

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make her want to slap him. "We can do that again if you wish," he smirked.

"Ha," she smiled with a loud single laugh. Last time she was unattached, now Michel would kill him. "Thank you for coming."

Zevran's nod looked more like a bow. "I am blessed to have so many beautiful women that desire my services." Khrys rolled her eyes but always enjoyed his company. Zevran had many lovers but never settled down. The rumor was that he was hopelessly in love with Lydia and had been since she spared his life.

"Did you see Malcolm?" she asked with a smile and Zevran nodded. "You gonna stand there and tell me you didn't know what he was, he who taught him how to be so damn destructive with blades?"

Zevran sighed and quite frankly was surprised the secret was kept this long. "So the truth comes out? Yes, I knew."

"I don't believe it," she scoffed. "Everyone knew but us."

Zevran shook his head. "Less than five people knew."

"So I've been told," she muttered.

"Don't take it personal, Inquisitor, I shouldn't have to tell you how possessed mages are treated," he said. She shook her head with a derisive snort.

There was silence between them as they walked and then he spoke. "The Warden-Commander handed me a contract."

Khrys paused briefly in mid step understanding what he was talking about and shook her head. "Of course she did. Don't go after him, Zev."

"Is that concern I hear?"

She stopped him. "I'm not kidding, Zev. If you threaten him he will kill you…he's a God for Creator's sake."

Zevran put a hand on her arm and gave her a reassuring smile. "I have no intention of trying to commit suicide twice. That's another reason why I'm here…if I am to fulfill my contract I will need help."

"Zevran," she warned. "The only person I've seen stand up to him and kick his ass is Malcolm."

Zevran grinned. "I feel like a proud father."

"Well Malcolm can go toe to toe with him, but you can't. So don't," she said and he wasn't arguing that.

**

The dungeon pretty much became Thom's domain, this was where he worked out of…he ran the prison and was the Captain of the Guard. No one was tortured or mistreated and Skyhold ran like clockwork. The fact that a close friend of his was currently a guest bothered him considerably but he managed to keep himself as professional as possible. When word came down that the 'subject matter expert' had arrived various people trickled in.

Dorian hated the prison. Dark, dreary, and certainly nowhere he wanted to spend his time but he found himself the first one there when the runners came and told him to meet Khrys in the prison. "Look what the cat dragged in," Dorian droned at the sight of Zevran, the Elf just smiled.

Zevran had not changed a bit, the blessing of Elven genes. "Dorian," he nodded. "I must say I like the grey…as if you weren't handsome before," he blatantly flirted.

Dorian groaned as he usually did when dealing with the Antivan. "Couldn't get both of us so you settled for one of us?" Dorian sniped with a snort and Zevran grinned. Khrys blushed.

"Why do you two have to do this?" she chided.

"Sexual tension," Zevran smirked and Dorian scoffed loudly but blushing could be seen.

Khrys had bedded both of them. "Well, pick a room and have fun." She remembered her night with Zevran, it was a lot of fun and she was surprised that the rumors about him were not overblown. He was as good as he boasted.

Dorian's 'not even maybe' laugh made her snort. "You think Balian was angry at me before?" he said dryly. The door opening drew their attention.

"And here comes your newest conquest, Lady Inquisitor," Zevran muttered noticing Michel striding toward them. He was as handsome as ever with his golden blonde hair, blue eyes, strong jaw, and the scars left from his fight with Gaspard. "You know how to pick them."

"Let's just assume I've slept with everyone in the room and move on, shall we?"

Zevran pressed with chuckle. "We're missing your Avvar bedfellows and your other Orlesian one. You really can get Orlais to do _anything_ you want."

Khrys groaned and even Dorian was smirking now. "That'll do, gentlemen, and I did not sleep with Gaspard."

Neither of them believed that, she'd always denied it but nothing was ever confirmed. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Dear Lady," Zevran teased as Michel joined the conversation that Khrys just wished to stop. "A beautiful woman has needs. Needs that need to be tended to and may I say your chose well."

Michel blinked and considered the company, the topic most certainly crude. "I don't think I want to know what this conversation is about," Michel said carefully and Khrys gave Zevran a look that insisted he shut up.

The Antivan pushed the envelope. "Old times," Zevran replied with a wink.

"Zev, he will punch you if I let him."

Michel snorted. "I'll punch him anyway," Zevran chuckled in response and could see why Khrys might have been embarrassed.

"Alright, rein it in, Boys," she smiled, they were having fun at her expense and it made her chuckle. "Everything ready?" she asked Michel and the quiet Orlesian nodded.

**

In the prison the personal effects of prisoners were kept in a secure room, this is where the belongings of the assassin were. Some suggested the Vault would be a better place but since no one wanted to go near that place with the Relic stored there, the lock up was the best option. Balian, Malcolm, and Thom waited patiently with the trunk of evidence. Zevran had been called in since he was Khrys' best source of assassin information. She figured the Crow would know more about assassins then even her own spies even if they didn't come from the same crew.

"This was all he had on him," Malcolm said. He was curious to know what his mentor would see in the stuff they had collected.

Zevran sifted through it placing the items on the table. He paid particular attention to the armor and the weapons. The Serpentstone blade was expensive and smelled heavily of mage poison, after a few minutes came to his conclusion. "The Black Hand."

"The what?" Khrys asked. Zevran set the weapon down turning to her.

"The assassin was with the Black Hand."

Thom scoffed making his opinion known. "There's no way you could tell that just by looking at this junk."

Zevran was not offended, it took years to perfect his skills. One assassin could spot another no matter how well they were trained. Like the way a Bard could spot another Bard. A warrior could spot another warrior. "Oh, my friend, if you want romance you go to Orlais, barbarians – Fereldan, war every few years – the Free Marches, if you want Mages you go to Tevinter, Pirates – Rivain, but if you want assassins…you go to Antiva," he said and both the smirk on his face and the tone of his voice made Thom and Balian roll their eyes. "The Black Hand is famous for hunting mages and rumor is they were bought by a very important person in Tevinter."

"Bought?" Dorian asked trying to put it all together.

"The whole organization," Zevran clarified.

Thom remained unconvinced. He didn't like Zevran when he met him and his opinion hadn't changed. "Really?"

The fact that Zevran had a permanent smirk irritated him that much more. "I'm very good at what I do, Captain Rainier. The blade was coated in magebane, something the Black Hand does when hunting or subduing mages."

"The arrow that tried to kill him in Tevinter was dipped in it too." Balian countered gesturing to Dorian and Zevran shrugged.

"The blade was also Serpentstone…they favor it…no idea why," he added and felt something nagging him. "How did he get in?" Skyhold was a tough nut to crack, it could be done but Khrys was attacked in her chambers probably the least accessible place in Skyhold.

"Scaled the Keep side of the tower to the terrace," Malcolm informed and Zevran raised his eyebrows.

"Inventive," he praised with the same snort that Malcolm had when he figured it before.

"Any other insights?" Michel asked and Zevran sighed.

"If the organization has been bought this isn't over," he said confidently and earned a strange look from Khrys. "From what Dorian has said a Magister is trying to start a war, the best way to do that…what I would do…is do exactly what they are doing now. Kill the people in command…Khrys, Dorian…I would warn the rest."

"The rest?" Malcolm asked.

"The allies," Khrys answered and Zevran nodded.

"A united southern Thedas is something even Tevinter can't crack. They'll target Orlais, Fereldan, and probably Starkhaven," he continued and looked his audience over. "It's what I'd do."

It wasn't stellar news but no expected it to be and the same order from a few days ago went out. Get word to the allies and tell them to be on the lookout for assassins that were under orders from Tevinter.

**

Michel took his time reading through missives and situation reports from anyone that was on the Tevinter border. It seemed as though southern Thedas had to gear up for more war, he didn't like what he was reading and knew that Cullen and Charter were reading the same things…none of them were going to like this. By all accounts they figured Tevinter would attack Orlais even though the Free Marches would be an 'easier' target. Sebastian would disagree and give them absolute hell. Zevran had hung around and gotten reports from his contact in Antiva and in Tevinter. The news was still bad.

He sighed heavily as he continued to read and eat his favorite snack: peasant bread and honey. Bree hurried in and immediately started rummaging through the stack of folded and rolled papers on a desk at the far side of the room.

"What are you looking for?" he asked as she picked up a few that had fallen on the floor.

"Michel, do you have a big map like the one on the war table?" she asked and Michel's brow furrowed.

"That one's actually two maps but I think there's one," he answered and walked over to her still carrying the slice of bread he was eating. "Here," he said handing her the bread, "hold this."

She giggled, took it, and ate it. "Oh I love that," she said and Michel chuckled. It was a mutual favorite snack for the both of them.

"More on the table if you want it, Hild made a couple of loaves this morning and I stole one," he offered. "Here's one, it's smaller but I think it might work."

"Can I mark on it?"

Michel studied her. "What do you need it for?"

"I saw a map when I was with Solas, something seemed strange about it… familiar," she told him.

"Need any help?"

She shook her head after thinking a moment. "No. I just want to look and see what I can remember. He had markers on his…seemed familiar."

"If you need me let me know, okay."

She smiled brightly to him. "Thanks, Michel."

**

Despite the bad news from all corners Skyhold really didn't seem all the different. It was just as busy as it always was. Correspondence had gone out as Khrys had ordered, the Inquisition was on alert, Orlais and Starkhaven already were and would probably double once they got the update, Fereldan was Fereldan and still unhappy with the Inquisition but correspondence went to them as well. Alistair had spat back every notice they'd sent since the attack on Vigil's Keep and was even angrier when he learned that Fenris could have killed Solas and didn't. Michel was pretty sure he saw the explosion on the horizon to the east. Khrys was more stressed then normal but having Bree back and knowing Dorian was okay helped considerably.

Warnings had been sent about the Black Hand but aside from that there wasn't much left to do. It seemed like as soon as they sent everything out they were inundated with responses. Michel was worried about Khrys and found her at Josie's desk looking irritated with what she was reading.

"Could the bad news get any worse?" Khrys complained and sighed heavily after dropping a stack of papers on Josie's desk.

"Don't ask that, it can always get worse," Michel replied getting behind her and putting his left arm around her. She leaned back into him as he kissed her neck. "Maybe you should stop slaving over it. You've been nonstop since Zevran got here."

"Because it's been nothing but bad," she sighed heavily. "Vhenan, just take me away."

"Where do you want to go?" he asked quietly in her left ear.

"I don't care," she sighed. "Away."

"I will," he said and hugged her tightly. "I promise."

There quiet moment was broken when Bree came scurrying in. Bree paused and stammered. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Mama, can I show you something?"

Khrys remained in her position with Michel's arm around her. "What is it?"

"When I was with Solas I saw a map," she said and spread the map she'd gotten from Michel on the desk. "On that map there were a lot of markers and it seemed really familiar so I asked Michel for a map. I marked what I remembered. Look familiar?"

Michel and Khrys looked at each other and then at map. Bree had marked several parts on the map and at first Khrys didn't see it. She cocked her head and studied it closer. "This is where they found the book in Seheron, and the ruin in the Sea of Ash, where we sent Sutherland in Antiva, and where we found the Relic in the Deep Roads," Khrys said and noticed Michel had taken an interest too.

"This was with Solas?" Michel asked and Bree nodded.

"I didn't put it together at first but I saw the map in Cullen's office and it hit me. All of these are places where we…or you…found pieces or indicators of the relic. The rest are more indicators…we have to check it out." In truth she wanted as far from Skyhold as possible.

"Solas wasn't able to find the Relic, he had to wait for us to do it," Khrys said and tried to put it together. "If he had these marked he probably already looked at them."

She'd thought of that too. From what she had gathered, Solas had been on the trail of the relic for quite some time but since there was next to nothing written about it finding it took time. "Mama, you said it yourself and so has Dad, you have no idea what that thing is. All we know is that thing is dangerous, powerful, and Solas wants it."

"That's a good catch," Michel praised before Khrys could get there. Bree beamed.

"Let me go check it out. You need me as far away from Skyhold as possibl-…"

Before Bree finished her sentence Khrys was shaking her head. "No. No way."

"Mama, come on, I'll take someone and go investigate."

Khrys shook her head, she could agree it was a good idea and worth investigating but she just got Bree back. "No, you're not going anywhere you're staying here."

"Mama?"

"I said no, you're staying here," she barked firmly.

Bree looked to Michel. "Michel?"

This wasn't the first time he'd been put in the middle and looked from Bree to Khrys thinking, it was a good idea and worth checking out but it was too dangerous. "I agree with your mom."

Bree scoffed rudely. "Of course you do."

Michel glared. "Hey!" he scolded. "Don't pit me between you and your mother. It's a good idea but it's not safe," he snapped harshly. As mild as he was he learned how to be a part of the parenting team, Bree was a good kid but she had a rebellious streak. She rolled her eyes. "Do you understand?"

When Michel scolded her it was quick, clean, and to the point. Bree nodded. "I'm sorry."

Michel was satisfied with the apology. "I'll put some teams together but it'll have to wait…we've got bigger problems," he said and Khrys gave her daughter critical eye.

"Shouldn't you be studying right now?" Khrys asked and Bree swallowed her rebellious urge. "Go." Bree turned to leave containing her frustration. "And Bree, work on your manners. Do you understand?" Bree managed to save her long and annoyed huff until she was out of earshot.

**

_Bree stood in the Vault looking down at the Relic. Confusion colored her face. She couldn't remember how or why she was there. It looked the way it had looked the last time she was down there, how it looked when Cole pretty much read the remnants horrifying past. It was the Vault but it wasn't real. She knew what the Fade felt like but she'd never dreamed of the vault before, this wasn't her doing._

_"It is incredible is it not?" a voice said and suddenly Solas appeared on the other side of the table._

_Bree didn't flinch or react, none of this was real, this was the Fade. "What is it?" she asked even though the question she wanted to ask was how he was able to be here._

_"The means to an end. The source of nearly unlimited power and stronger than any Foci my people ever created," he said and passed his hand over the smooth, red, obsidian relic. It wasn't real and Solas knew that._

_"Your people didn't create it?"_

_Solas seemed a little more willing to converse about it here in the Fade as opposed to in reality. Maybe it was because he was more comfortable in the Fade or maybe it was because he had some semblance of control over her. "No. It was created long before my people and it destroyed their civilization."_

_"And you want it why?"_

_Solas closed off right then and stood up straight with his hands behind his back. "You know why," he answered and his eyes reminded her of a wolf's as he leveled a steady look at her. "Bring me the Relic, Da'len."_

_"I'm busy," Bree responded with the attitude of the teenager that she was._

_Solas' level stare intensified. "Do not try me, Da'len, bring me the Relic."_

_"No," she snapped back defiantly._

_Solas raised his right hand and the mark on her face seared causing her to cry out. "Now."_

_Bree's hand went to the side of her face burning from the magic and she leaned on the table with a cry of pain. "I will not," she snarled back. Solas applauded her defiance but he needed her to not fight him right now. He didn't say anything but the burning pain doubled. According to Morrigan there wasn't much anyone could do to fight the binding._  
_Eventually the one they were bound to would get what they wanted._

_"You don't have a choice," he said and Bree focused her mind._

_Solas was only in her dream because of the connection they shared right now, but she was stronger than he was. She was the Somniari, this was her Dream, her mind, her home. "Get out," she ordered and Solas cocked his head slightly. "Get out!" she ordered again, louder this time, and something thrummed through the Fade and it hit Solas like a kick to the face._

Solas sat up from his dream still feeling the thrumming magic wave that gave him the boot from Bree's dream. He blinked a few times and shook his head trying to shake it off. She was a stronger dreamer than he thought and he smiled. He really did like that girl.

The burning of the mark on her face lingered after Bree awoke with a yelp. Her face wasn't burned but it certainly felt like it. This had to stop. She refused to be a party to the end of the world. She had to do something and jumped out of bed, pulled on some clothes, grabbed the map, and ran.

**

The pounding on the thick wood door served well enough to startle Malcolm awake. He jumped and quickly realized that it was just someone banging on the door. He contemplated ignoring it, he didn't care who it was. He growled loudly as the incessant noise continued.

"What? What? What? What?!" he grouched loudly crossing the space from his bed to the door and yanking it open. His shoulders fell when he saw it was Bree. "Well, this can't be good," he sighed.

"I need to talk to you," she said and pushed past him, inviting herself in.

Malcolm sighed tiredly and pushed the door closed with a slam a little louder than he'd intended. "Why do you keep coming to me in the middle of the damn night?"

She knew it was late, or early depending on who was asked, but this was important. "Shut up will ya, I need to run something by you."

"Hopefully it doesn't require too much thought," a tired Malcolm replied earning him a glare, she wasn't in the mood for his humor. She scoffed and spread the map out on the table then told him the whole story.

Malcolm had settled into a position against his dresser. Leaned back casually with his arms folded across his chest. He'd had the courtesy to put a shirt on while she told him what she wanted to do but said nothing until she was finished. "So let me get this straight: you want to go out there and see what Solas' interest is in these spots."

"Yes," she said simply and stood over by the fire. Winter always hit Skyhold early and it was right around the corner.

Malcolm thought about calling her crazy but she had a very good point. They were both there when Cole was in the presence of the Relic and every time he thought of the thing it unnerved him. "Why'd you come to me?"

She lightly rubbed the left side of her face, still feeling the burn. "Because Mama and Michel said no."

Malcolm chuckled lightly. "You're not just defying Daddy you're defying them all."

The whole situation unnerved her, the Relic, the mark, Solas' ability to enter her dreams, all of it. She needed to get out of Skyhold and be useful. "You going to help me or not, Mal?"

He sighed heavily and looked at the map again. A few moments passed as he weighed the pros and cons. "Yeah. When do you want to sneak out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I brought in Zevran...I can't help it with him.


	21. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...not much I can say for this one except 'here we go' and JRogers, hold on to your hat. 
> 
> Soundtrack for this one 
> 
> Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Chapter Twenty One: Possession

 

For Malcolm and Bree, getting out of Skyhold unseen was simple. They'd been doing it for years. Malcolm readied the horses and Bree collected food, water, and equipment. It was shockingly simple for them to sneak out. Michel and Thom would have a coronary if they knew just how easy it was for someone who knew the Keeps' routine.

They made it down the mountain and out of the valley with enough speed and efficiency to make any military commander cheer. Days on the road were passed as they traded stories and jokes. They were each other's siblings and it showed.

"So, tell me about the Prince," Malcolm asked and sat down on the bedroll with his half of the rabbit.

"He has a name," she replied wiping her mouth.

"I know," he answered. "I've never seen you go head to head with your father like that before. You serious about him?"

Bree smiled when she thought about Jean and Malcolm could see the parallels between her and himself. "I like him. He's nice and handsome and-…"

"The Prince of Orlais."

Bree grinned. Jean being the Prince was only part of his package. "Jealous?"

"Nah…Duncan's more my speed," he joked. "Orlesians are too pretty for me." Bree chuckled at his response. "He seems a decent enough guy…I'm happy for you."

She smiled. "Don't plan the wedding just yet. I got my father to relent I still have no idea about his family," she cautioned licking the remains of the cooked rabbit off her fingers and throwing the skewer in the fire.

"Your father was the biggest hurdle. Remember this was his father's idea," he ventured and Bree nodded. "Get some rest. We need to move quickly…once they figure out we absconded I'm sure they'll try to track us down."

It hadn't escaped her just how much trouble they – she – would be in when they went back to Skyhold or if Michel or Thom caught up with them out here. She laid down resting her head on her saddle that was angled against his.

Malcolm lay down too and they both sighed at the same time.

"I missed you," she said after a long silence.

"You too," he replied with a smile.

The next morning they were riding at dawn and autumn was defiantly settling in, overnight it turned colder prompting Bree to put on her warmest cloak but woodsman Malcolm seemed completely unaffected.

"Mal, where are you going?" she asked as he continued heading south when they should turn east. "It's that way."

"We're at the edge of the Wilds. We can go home, horses could use the rest and we can get more supplies." he explained and a loud rumble or thunder reiterated the need for some shelter. "It's not far." Malcolm had chosen this location because of how close it was to home. On the map it put it near where Ostagar used to be.

Bree was unsure, the stories about the Wilds rattled around in her head. How dangerous and mysterious it was. The fact that people ventured in, and most of the time, never ventured back out. "I've never been to the Wilds."

Malcolm smiled as he flipped the hood of his cloak up just as the rain started to pour. "We'll be fine. Come on," he said and turned Kyp onto the path the horse knew well.

The Wilds were, in a word, creepy. Even as it rained there was a dense mist, it felt like the trees had eyes, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees adding misery to the rain. They were both soaked as she followed Malcolm at every twist and turn through the steadily thickening forest. A sudden and very loud clap of thunder startled them both and Skye bolted. The spooked mare ran into Kyp and Malcolm's reflexes caught the reins before she got past.

Bree gathered her horse back up but looked as spooked as her mount. "You alright?" Malcolm asked and Bree nodded though she didn't look like she believed it. "We're almost there," he assured with a smile on his face that made her feel a little better. He patted Skye's neck and moved on.

She wasn't sure how long 'almost there' was or how long they'd spent since they entered the forest but the cluster of huts came out of nowhere. It looked like a small village of almost a dozen buildings. They reached what looked to be an open barn and she was happy to be out of the torrential rain.

After seeing to the horses she followed her brother up the steps to one of the huts and out of the mud. They squelched as they walked and dripped when they were out of the rain. "Dad!" she heard Malcolm call when they went to the large hut.

"Mal?" Anders questioned, shocked to see him there. Last he knew his stubborn son stayed in Skyhold with his mother but now he was here only a few weeks later. "What are you doing here?" he asked and saw Bree. "And what is _she_ doing here?"

"It's a long story. We just need to wring ourselves out," he replied and took his water heavy cloak off.

Anders wasn't about to turn either of them away and nodded. "Alright, well, let's get you two some dry clothes and food." He was pretty sure neither of them was supposed to be here.

Malcolm was in his father's hut long enough to change his clothes and dry off then went to a hut at the other end of the village. He didn't knock or announce him himself he just walked in like he had a thousand times before. It was a tiny little hut that he had spent a lot of time in.

"The stew is bubbling, Mama." A young woman said without turning.

Malcolm zeroed in on the young woman tending to the stew and quietly walked up to her, turning her halfway, and kissing her deeply. She was surprised but it passed when she realized who was kissing her. She said something indistinguishable by the kiss and turned completely wrapping herself up in his arms. He squeezed her tight but not tight enough to hurt her and after a moment the kiss ended. He pressed his forehead to hers placing his right hand on her cheek. "Hello, beautiful."

"You're back. You were gone so long," she said trying to stay as calm as possible and not tear up from joy.

"I know. I'm sorry," he said and let the urge to kiss her again win. "I love you."

Her mother coming in separated them and he nodded to her. "Malcolm," she acknowledged.

"Vanna," he said with a respectful tone and a smile.

"Staying for supper?" she asked her dialogue stilted and short since she didn't speak the common tongue well. He nodded wanting to remain as close to Lily as possible.

**

Anders poured some hot cider for Bree and then himself. He wasn't sure why they were here but he knew he didn't like it. He liked Bree, he really did, but she did tend to get Malcolm into interesting situations both good and bad. Malcolm wasn't an angel either but he was pretty sure Bree was the reason they were here.

"Where's Malcolm?" Bree asked after devouring the roast that Anders had prepared. She was warming up finally from the cold rain and had a blanket wrapped around her.

Anders offered her more food but she shook her head and he sat back down. "Oh, he's with Lily."

"The famous Lily…he talks about her." Anders knew that, all that Malcolm and Lily were lacking was an official ceremony.

"You won't see him probably until the morning." Bree blushed at the idea that he was spending the night with her. Anders saw the tinge and smiled. "He's loved her since he met her. They're usually inseparable…I was surprised when he joined the Inquisition." Anders was quiet for a minute and watched her shiver slightly under the blanket. "What are you doing here?"

Bree looked up at him with a blink before looking away. Anders was a father and had seen that look before. "Just trying to help."

Anders shook his head. "No. You are doing something you shouldn't and have dragged my son along for the ride."

"We're just going to check something out," she evaded but the look from Anders told her that the mage remained unconvinced.

"Bree, listen to me, he will do anything you ask him to do but don't take advantage of him."

"I'm not! We're looking for something, that's all. Something to help combat Solas," she defended sounding offended by the notion that she was doing all this just because she wanted to be rebel. "You know what. I'm tired, where can I sleep?"

" _Stubborn teenagers_." Tess was always better with them then he was and he indicated with his right thumb over his shoulder. "Mal's bed is around the corner," he offered. "He won't be using it tonight."

Bree nearly snorted but that would ruin her grumpy expression. As many times as Malcolm had passed out in her bed from lack of anywhere else it was poetic justice that she got to crash in his.

**

Lily insistently snuggled against Malcolm after he shifted slightly almost like she never wanted to let him go again. It rained all through the night but the fire heated the hut well enough to keep everything dry. The furs were heavy and warm but the best part was the warmth from the bodies under the furs. Bree was right, he should bring her back to Skyhold.

"You're not sleeping," Lily said quietly in the dark.

"I was," he said and kissed the top of her head.

"You're not staying are you?" she asked and he was quiet for a moment before answering.

"No," he said finally and it killed him to say it. "I'll be back though. Then I want to take you to Skyhold."

"Really?"

"If you want," he replied and she snuggled tighter against him.

The autumn morning in the Wilds was about a picturesque as they came. Beams of sunlight came through the densely packed forest trying to burn off the thick mist that that settled in. To say it was muddy was an understatement but the horses were dry, well rested, and fed.

The fire had successfully dried out everyone's armor and cloaks and as Bree saddled her horse she heard Malcolm approaching behind her. Malcolm in his leather armor was always quite a sight, he was a handsome young man, always had been.

"Did someone have fun last night?" Bree asked and Malcolm blushed. She giggled. "What? After all this time you're bashful now? I've seen you naked for crying out loud."

"Uhh, I was 11 and you stole my clothes," he replied and the girl he was with gave them a curious look. Lily was a medium height woman, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and classic but plain beauty. "Bree this is Lily."

"Hi," Bree greeted with a smile.

"He talks about you," Lily said helping him a buckle on his left arm.

"Malcolm talks?" she asked. Malcolm rolled his eyes and Lily laughed.

"He is a man of few words," she joked as Malcolm ignored their teasing and tended to Kyp.

Anders gave Malcolm and Bree more food as they prepared to leave. The horses stood quietly waiting for their owners to get the show on the road. "Be careful, son, whatever it is that you're doing."

He shook his father's hand with a nod. "I will," he said and moved from his father to his girl. He kissed her and hugged her. "I'll be back," he said and then vaulted up onto Kyp with a single agile display.

**

Malcolm navigated the woods like she navigated Skyhold. He could find his way anywhere in the woods and Bree was surprised she didn't notice that before. As long as she'd been with him she'd never really seen him in his apparent element. Malcolm was amazing. His whistling was annoying, however.

"Do you have to do that?" she said after the annoyance became too much.

He paused in mid whistle. "You're no fun anymore you know that?" he called over his shoulder.

Bree glared but he never saw it. "Kidnapping will do that."

Malcolm scoffed loudly. "Oh, please, that was nothing."

Bree rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Justice." Malcolm resumed his whistling and she rolled her eyes again. For 20 more minutes he whistled before sharply stopping and looking to the left with a furrowed brow. "Don't tell me you can hear over your whistling," she snarked and he snorted.

"Not what I hear it's what I feel," he answered and felt the unique thrum of the Relics power. "This way."

After all these years the field where King Calian died still looked like a battlefield, it still felt eerie and the thin veil unnerved Bree. Even on the edge of where Loghain's infamous betrayal occurred they could feel the ghosts. Grave robbers rarely ventured in out of fear for the 'creatures' that dwelled in the scarred land. The Warden-Queen's company cut Calian's displayed body down and gave him the pyre he deserved along with any Wardens they could identify.

"What does a thin veil feel like to you?" she asked Malcolm and saw him cock his head to the left briefly.

"Like I'm close to the Fade," he replied not really sure how to answer that.

That was a bullshit answer if she'd ever heard one. "Mal, I feel close to the Fade where the veil is thin, you're possessed you have to have a better answer than that."

He grumbled his annoyance. "For the last time: I am not possessed. I don't know what the hell I am but I'm not possessed."

"Sorry," she replied. "Still, your answer sucked."

Malcolm chuckled. "It's almost like I can feel the spirits and demons on the other side."

"Interesting."

The edge of the Ostagar ruins brought them to their destination, the way he moved made Bree curious. "Have you been here before?" she asked and Malcolm pulled his horse up to the location his strange feeling was leading.

"No."

"You're kidding, you live this close and you've never been to the ruins of Ostagar?"

"Never been up to Lothering either, anywhere the blight stained the land I generally stay the hell away from," he said and urged Kyp forward closer to what looked like a ruined building. "This is it," he confirmed as Bree pulled Skye up next to Kyp and looked at her map.

"Looks like it used to be a Temple."

Safe bet but Malcolm scoffed. "A _really_ long time ago."

"There's nothing here, just barely tall ruined walls." She thought about it a moment and remembered what she'd read and was told about where the book was found. It was found in the middle of nowhere with just a marker.

The feeling Malcolm had was the same one he had in the Deep Roads but considerably less uncomfortable. "Oh, something is here," he insisted and dismounted causing Bree to follow suit.

"Are you sure?"

He began to track it. "Yep."

It wasn't the biggest ruin that they'd ever been in but it was by far the most frustrating. It was obvious where the temple once was but it frustrated Malcolm that he couldn't zero in on the thing that he could feel. It wasn't as strong as the one in the Deep Roads but it was definitely here.

After kicking over a head sized rock Bree grumbled. "There's nothing here."

"You need to stop hanging around that Orlesian, ya know," Malcolm replied, "you've become very negative."

She glowered at his back. "I'm so happy we came out here for nothing," she said with a chipper and bubbly tone. "I can't wait to go home and have one or both of my parents lock me in the dungeon for the rest of my life."

Malcolm chuckled. "That's the spirit."

"You're hilarious, Mal, and to think I actually missed you," she deadpanned and he continued to search. Something was there. Something was making him feel like he was going to vomit. "Maybe he found it already or there was nothing here."

He rolled his eyes. Still so negative. "Here," he said as the feeling grew stronger but the location he found was bare, there wasn't even a stone there. "I think it's buried."

Bree sighed irritably. "Terrific." She muttered and gestured for him to start digging. "By all means."

Malcolm blinked and cocked his head to her. "You're not the empress of Orlais yet," he teased. "Did you bring a shovel?"

"One of these days I'm going to kill you," she threatened but Malcolm simply shrugged.

"After you're done digging."

And so they dug and found a plain small box about a foot down. Malcolm could feel the same thrum of power as before as he hauled the box out of the hole.

The box was small and wrapped in disintegrating leather. It was plain save for the same helix pattern on the top. She turned to Malcolm who gave her the same curious look that she wore. Bree opened the box that was made of some kind of stone to reveal a smaller flat wooden box tucked within.

"The plot thickens," she muttered as she opened the second box.

Inside was an ornate palm sized talisman that hit Malcolm with a strong sense of power. "What is that?"

"I…have no idea," she replied.

Malcolm had the strongest reaction to the Relic and even now he was showing that he could feel this as well. The power that was tied to the Relic was virtually unknown to them so they were learning as they went. "No wait, Mal, don't touch that."

He touched it and dropped it immediately when he felt a spark of magic from the talisman.

"What was that?" she asked and Malcolm felt it immediately…something was wrong but he didn't know what.

He stood as the feeling alarmed him. "Oh, no." The black haze swirled around Malcom and Bree felt very strange, thrummed with a power that she had had never felt. It was a powerful, eerie darkness that made her skin crawl. The haze looked like smoke and it concentrated on Malcolm making the stoic healer grunt and bite back yelps of pain. His body flashed the spirit blue and then to an eerie red then back again.

"Mal?" Bree questioned as he let a cry of pain escape, he dropped to one knee and his hands went to his head. "Mal? Mal, what's happening?" she asked and began to panic a little dropping down in front of him cupping his face in her hands. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm's eyes were solid spirit blue but something was very wrong. "Go," he said, his voice strained pushed through gritted teeth. "Bree, get out of here," he added. His eyes flashed from spirit blue to his natural eye color then back again. He cried out in pain staggered to his feet away from her.

"I'm not going to leave you, tell me what's happening!" she refused and watching him flash back and forth from the blue to the red frantically.

"Go, Bree," he gritted and went rigid like he was being shocked by something. The black smoke returned and swirled around him. "Go." The wind picked up around him and the ground rumbled, in addition to whatever was going on, the flashing of his spirit side, and the rumbling ground lightening was crackling from his hands. She saw Malcolm ball up his fists trying to contain his impressive powers and it dawned on her- he was losing control, that's why he was yelling for her to run. If Malcolm lost control of his force ability and his lightening he could level the area and kill her in the process. "RUN!" he roared obviously trying to control himself and she got the point.

The ground shook even more and more lightening escaped from him, the wind continued to swirl around him as the spirit blue locked. Bree turned and ran and heard Malcolm lose his battle.

The smoke enveloped him and picked him up suspending the young mage a few feet from the ground. The mysterious power hit him like a maul and he screamed in pain, his voice changed by Justice. His scream was awful, all of it was pain, like he was being ripped apart. The moment he screamed he lost all control, the ground shook with the force of a powerful earthquake, a pulse of force power went out in all directions with a deafening crack, and last but not least lightening arched out like a lightning storm. Bree wasn't nearly far enough away when the force pulse knocked her off her feet. She glanced back to see what was happening but all she could hear was his screams then she brought up the aegis to protect herself from his power run rampant.

The silence when it was all over it was worse than the apocalyptic sound that destroyed everything around her. The Aegis protected her from his power, falling, and flying debris to a point but when she dug herself out it still hurt when giant rocks fell on her. She slowly got to her feet and made her way through the ruins; Malcolm's uncontrolled power did exactly what she thought it would do. Leveled it. Any remnants of what it used to be gone. The mage was on his hands and knees looking like he was trying to collect himself, the black smoke was gone, the flashing of the spirit side of his had gone away telling her that the spirit was not in control. Something was wrong though…she could feel it. The same strange, eerie power still lingered in the air. "Malcolm?" she called quietly, something told her to be cautious.

Malcolm's face was obscured by the shaggy mop of hair and he looked up, bone chilling eyes striking fear deep within her. They weren't human…they weren't spirit…they were red. The mage stood with effortless ease never taking his eyes off of her. "There is no Malcolm," he said the voice was deep and otherworldly, it sounded like Justice but this was not the spirit that resided within the Healer. "There is only I."

Bree's heart felt like it was thud out of her ribs. "Justice?"

"The Spirit is dead. The one you call Malcolm is dead." he stated.

There was no warning, no pretense. Her childhood friend, the closest thing she had to a brother attacked, his hands came up and released the power of the lightening. She didn't react fast enough in her opinion and the bolt from his right hand struck her armor. The enchanted Keeper variant dawnstone armor absorbed most of the deadly energy but it did knock her off her feet. She shrieked in literal shock and surprise and brought up the Aegis before his next attack managing to deflect his next bolt. No one had come up with an adequate defense against him so she had to figure a way out of his fast.

At the moment, what she needed to do was block as she formulated a plan to try to subdue him. She'd brought him for protection, but never in a million years, thought she would need protection from him. She got a moment to think as one of his bolts bounced back on him knocking him off his feet. It was just a moment because he recovered inhumanly fast. He attacked again and she countered with fire.

The ground before him exploded into a wall of fire causing him to back off and break his attack. Bree scrambled to the left trying to find cover in the new rubble he had created. A blast of energy slammed into her crushing her against the remains of a rock wall. Stunned, she could see Malcolm coming through the smoke from her fire, disconcerting red eyes were blank…this wasn't him. Malcolm was powerful but even he wasn't fireproof. She refused to believe that Malcolm was gone so she sent a fireball toward his feet warning him to back off. He walked through it and before she could think of what next another pulse from his left hand crushed her back into the wall. Again, there was no banter, no words, Malcolm put his right hand on her chest and electrocuted her.

Now, it was her turn to scream, there was only so much of the immense power her armor could absorb. She couldn't help the ear-piercing scream, it hurt…it hurt more than anything she'd ever felt before. She managed to open her eyes and caught a glimpse of him, his eyes were red…eerie red like she'd never seen before. Her world was starting to close in on itself, this was how she was going to die…at the hands of her best friend, her brother, she closed her eyes.

Then the pain stopped a familiar crackle of power and she was dropped. Malcolm staggered away with painful grunts. It took Bree a few moments to collect herself, but it felt like an eternity, then she looked at Malcolm. He was crackling blue, Spirit blue, and when he looked at her a wave of relief hit, the spirit blue eyes of Justice. "Malcolm?"

"Go," he replied sharply, again sounding like the spirit and under considerable strain. He was shaking, like he was trying to prevent himself from attacking again, his hands balled into tight fists but the ground was starting to vibrate again. "You must find help…"

He was alive, that was all Bree needed to hear. "I'm not leave-…" she started but was a cut short by him.

"GOOOO!" the spirit roared, the ground shook more and he started to flicker back and forth from blue to red again.

Bree turned and sprinted at her top speed from him, she wasn't sure where Skye and Kyp were or even if they survived his initial meltdown. All this started when he touched that talisman, she needed to find help. She kept running, whatever happened to him was momentarily stopped by his true self. He was giving her time to get away.

As she ran she spotted one of the horses, Kyp. "Kyp!" she called weakly, she was out of breath and her throat was dry. "Kyp!" she tried again. The Charger was spooked, turning a frantic circle and snorting, the ruin blew up and probably scared the hell out of him. He shied from her as she reached out for his reins but Bree made a pitiful attempt at Malcolm's whistle to help calm him down. The horse was leaning away from her ready to bolt when she finally gathered him up. One of the million questions she had was where Skye was, the mare didn't usually wander off. She tried her whistle, keeping her eyes peeled for Malcolm and the Dalish All-Bred, there was no immediate response but Bree felt that she was still in danger and sprang up onto the enormous Charger. From the view atop his horse she could see Malcolm coming toward her with a scary blankness in his movement and she spun Kyp driving him into a gallop away from him.

**

Bree lost track of how long she'd been running in the same direction, Kyp walked blowing hard from the extended gallop he'd been commanded to do. Lathered sweat caused white streaks on the black stallion and he probably hadn't been ridden that hard in quite a while. There was one person she knew could help her, mysterious magic was a specialty of his…if she could convince him to help. Right now, she was in the woods…strange woods. Back in the Wilds. She was exhausted and her entire body hurt from the attack.

Kyp got her back to familiar ground and she found herself back to the little village deep in the Wilds. She dismounted and her legs tingled after being in the saddle for so long. She didn't feel good but she managed to get to her destination.

"Bree?" Anders questioned, shocked to see her before him. His shock was swiftly replaced by concern as she collapsed into his arms. "Bree?" She looked awful, pale and exhausted. He gently gathered her up in his arms and carried her off.

When Bree came to she felt a wet cloth wiping her face, she stirred and opened her eyes looking up at Solas looking down at her. She startled herself as the memories of what had happened flooded back. "Malcolm!" she blurted and sat up straight.

"Easy," Anders said quietly in a gentle healer's tone. "Bree, what happened? Where's Malcolm?"

"Oh, Maker," she breathed but sounded more distressed than ever. "Malcolm…I'm sorry Anders…I don't know that happened."

Anders put both hands on her shoulder and kept himself under control. "Bree, relax…what happened? Calm down. Tell me what happened."

"There was a talisman…Malcolm touched it and…and I…I don't know what happened," she babbled not sure how to explain what took place. She tried to gather herself to explain it better. "I think something…something possessed him," she said and Anders cocked his head.

"That's impossible. Justice's presence should make that impossible."

"Well it happened." The young girl snarled and got out of the bed a little faster than she needed to. She swayed and Anders steadied her. "He attacked me. He nearly killed me."

"So you left him there?"

"He told me to go. He or Justice…whatever. He got control back long enough for me to escape."

Anders was panicking but hiding it well. His son was in trouble. He would never hurt Bree and she would never leave him unless she didn't have a choice. His relationship with his son wasn't perfect but he would die to protect him. "Take me to him."

Bree didn't argue and headed out of the dwelling. She wasn't quite steady but she'd manage.

Kyp had been tended to and as soon as Anders and Bree made their way out of the hut Lily was there. "Where's Malcolm?" she asked scurrying from Kyp to meet them.

"I don't know. I'm going to look for him now."

Lily's mind raced, the thought of losing Malcolm nearly caused hysterics but she kept them under control. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. You're going to stay here."

"I can help-…"

Anders put his hands on her shoulders much like he had with Bree to calm her. "Lily. I need you to stay here. Please," he said locking eyes with her. "I'll bring him back I promise." For all intents and purposes, she was his daughter in law and he kissed her forehead. "We'll be back."

Bree didn't spring up onto Kyp nor did she do anything fancy, instead she clamored up and into the saddle. She still hurt all over but that was something Anders couldn't heal, sore muscles healed on their own.

"Where is he?" Anders asked and giving her a gentle pat on the back, a parental gesture to see if she was okay.

"We're gonna need help first," she said popping the cork on the canteen that was tied to Kyp and taking a long pull off it.

"I thought that's what I was."

She shook her head. "There's only one person I know that can help us with this…if I can get him to help."

**

_Malcolm knew the Fade no matter its façade. His earliest memory was of the Fade. He remembered curious spirits wondering about him but he was never afraid. He'd never been afraid of the Fade…until now. Something was terribly wrong._

_He felt empty and the thrum of the Relic's power was so strong his head started to hurt. He didn't feel whole, something was missing…something serious. He hadn't left. He was still in the ruin but in Fade so it was reflected in what it used to be. A tall, strong structure built by Tevinter he guessed. Malcolm looked down at his hands and remembered attacking Bree, it wasn't him but at the same time it was him. He almost lost it there. How could he have attacked Bree? The Spirit was able to breakthrough and hold the Wraith off for her to escape but he didn't understand._

_"You have a fascinating mind, young one," The Wraith said and blinked to the red ethereal version of himself that appeared in front of him. "You are the most powerful thing I've tasted in several millennia."_

_"What are you?"_

_"Your beginning and your end," it replied. "You cannot defeat me…I will subsume you. Your consciousness, you and the spirit you call Justice, your magnificent power will be mine."_

_"Over my dead body," Malcolm hissed but he could feel the drain, even now the Wraith was doing exactly what it promised._

_"Yes indeed," it said gleefully the drain was felt even more._

_"You will not have him," the blue form of Justice roared and Malcolm felt a surge of power._

_"This one no longer belongs to you," The Wraith snarled at the blue intruder._

_"You will not have him."_

_"I heard you the first time," the red entity replied and Justice attacked the Wraith. The two ethereal entities collided and Malcolm at first felt a rush of power but the longer the battle raged between them the weaker he felt. Not just a mana drain but everything, he felt tired…something was terribly wrong. He sent a bolt of lightning as strong as he could make it into the red entity causing it to shriek. The use of mana made Malcolm feel like he was going to faint and he nearly did._

_Justice left the angry Wraith and passed into Malcolm who felt vastly better as soon as the Spirit re -entered. The Wraith materialized behind him and put its hand into Malcolm's temples._

_Malcolm screamed in the Fade and in the real, it was a scream that was not only heard but felt. A pulse of power exploded out from him in and out of the Fade._

Cole saw the flash of lightening as the Wraith failed to master the mage's power and heard the agonizing scream. "No one can save me now," he said to himself and put and hand on Skye's body. The horse was hit by an errant bolt and was killed. Bree's beloved animal died at the hands of her brother. "No one can save me now."

The mysterious rogue moved closer to the ruin past Skye's body and he squatted down to observe. He knew better then to get too close but officially had no idea how to help him or what was going on. He watched Malcolm struggle against whatever had a hold of him and felt the intense fear. In the entire time he'd known him he never felt this coming from Malcolm. His scream was dreadful and his hands went to the side of his head. Cole felt completely helpless. There was nothing he could do to help him.

_The Wraith forced himself into Malcolm's mind trying to displace the entity that was already there. Justice held on but he war over Malcolm was taxing and it exhausted the mage, he collapsed unconscious._

**

Kyp was a different kind of mount then what Bree was used to; he had a long springy gait that made him so much fun ride. She enjoyed him so much that for a brief moment she forgot what was going on, why she and Anders were moving through dense forest quickly. The Charger was a spirited mount but rode differently for someone other than Malcolm. The forest got thicker and colder as they moved on, Anders was quiet but not sure of where they were going.

The connection to Solas was pretty straight forward on his side but on hers it was a little less so. She felt different and obviously had trouble with dreams but she didn't expect to have a general intuition on where the Eluvians were. She didn't understand but right now she was thanking it. She needed his help.

Being back in Solas' fortress made her skin crawl and the Spirits recognized her let her pass but stopped Anders. "Just wait here. I'll be back."

As quiet as Anders had been about why they were there and that his son was in danger because of her he protested to staying behind. "No, Bree-…" he began and eyed the ethereal weapons that were aimed at his neck. Ethereal or not those weapons could kill him just as quick if not quicker than any solid, sharp weapon.

"I'll be fine," she cut him off. "He's probably kind of expecting me. Just don't provoke them." She indicated the Spirits who were okay with her but not him.

Anders bristled but decided to trust the teenager. Bree left him and was able to wander freely, being back made her feel a little uncomfortable. It wasn't every day that she returned to the scene of being held hostage. She found Solas sitting in the same place that she officially met him before only this time he wasn't eating he was studying something.  
Something she didn't recognize. "Solas."

Solas turned to see Bree in the dawnstone and white armor that reminded him of the armor Khrys wore. Different colors but the Elven style was familiar. He stood looking surprised to see her there. He thought she'd put up more of a fight in bringing him the Relic. "Have you brought me the Relic?"

"No." she answered and Solas cocked his head. "I need your help."

The ancient elf blinked. "Really?"

"It's Malcolm…he's in real trouble and I need your help." Solas said nothing and Bree continue explaining what she'd seen and heard. She explained why she had gone there in first place and got the reaction that she expected from him. It wasn't much, the Elf stood there quietly listening.

"You found something there…I'd already been there," a little puzzled by that, the fact that Malcolm could, in essence, track the power was definitely a surprise and warranted further investigation.

"It was a talisman, about the size of my palm. When Mal touched it this weird magic came out. Something took over him…something changed him, like he's possessed."

Solas cocked his head. "The young man is already possessed."

"This was different…this wasn't Justice," she insisted taking a step toward him. "He tried to kill me, Malcolm would never hurt me."

Solas thought a moment, Malcolm was the only mage that had presented a challenge to him and it worried him to some degree. Helping him just didn't seem to be in his own best interest. "No," he answered and earned a searing glare from her.

" 'No'?" she questioned. "Why not?"

Solas snorted. "Where do I begin?" his sarcasm was subtle and it made her angry.

She was mad and in a rush but kept herself under control. "I'll bring you the Relic?" she huffed and Solas allowed a smile.

His slight shrug made her think of Malcolm. "You'll bring me the Relic anyway."

Her fiery temperament finally flared and she stepped toward him with a fierce glare. "If you don't help me I'll make sure that you never get that Relic and that this place and you are destroyed forever," She threatened but Solas' expression didn't change. He didn't fear her. "Fine, should have known you'd never try to do something decent. All you've ever done is ruin lives and try to kill us all."

As she turned to leave Solas sighed heavily, her words impacted him more than he thought they would. Hearing them come from her was almost like hearing them come from Khrys…which made him feel worse. "Wait," he said making her stop. "I'll help you." He wasn't sure what persuaded him but he realized that she would only be here if it was a dire circumstance. "Who came with you?"

Bree wasn't surprised that he knew someone else was with her, she was surprised that it took him this long to inquire on it. "His father."

One of Solas' least favorite people, they fought constantly when they met the first time. At first Solas was intrigued by him, the human mage who allowed a spirit to possess him. This intrigue dissipated quickly when Solas learned that Anders was losing his mind because he'd corrupted the spirit whether he intended to or not. "Wonderful," he muttered. "Very well. Bring him here, let me think and you rest…you look tired."

She blinked, that was easier then she thought it would be to be plainly honest, and went to leave. "Thank you."

Solas didn't expect that and looked after her. "Bree," he called and took an item off the table, "you left without this." He presented her spirit blade…an item she thought she'd lost. She took the gold hilt that had a dragon design of head and wings. "It's beautiful."

"Thought I lost this," she whispered and took it with a brief, awkward smile to him. Solas said nothing in reply and turned from her going back to his table.

**

Malcolm felt water touch his lips and swam out of the exhausted state he was in. The Wraith couldn't maintain control of him because of Justice and the fight drained him. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious but as his eyes opened he saw Cole squatting near enough to give him water.

"Help me, Cole," he croaked out. Malcolm knew he was in trouble and was desperate for help.

"I can't," Cole replied. "There is nothing I can do to help you." Malcolm sobbed in response. It was hopeless, he could feel it. "Just hold on, Malcolm, they are coming."

Cole had watched the differences in Malcolm from a distance and he could accurately tell who was in control now. It seemed that Justice and the Wraith had an equal measure of control but at different times. When Justice had him he was still, meditating, trying to conserve energy and keeping himself calm. When the Wraith had him he was restless, trying to move and leave the ruin but something kept him there, whether it was the ruin itself, Justice, Malcolm, or something else. It was strange to watch and it frustrated the Wraith who had limited time to control the mage before being forced out allowing Justice or Malcolm control. Malcolm slept, Justice meditated.

_Back in the Fade, Malcolm took in his surroundings. He was now in a temple he didn't recognize but it matched the description of what Cole had seen when he encountered the Relic. The Wraith materialized near him but didn't attack, it just looked at him. "Your mind is interesting," it said. "The one who possesses you…keeps you alive." Malcolm blinked but didn't respond to the red version of his likeness. "Your mortal body is weak. I will subsume your spirit and your power and your body will be mine."_

_Again, Malcolm stayed quiet trying to learn what he needed to do. There had to be some way out of this but the glimmer of hope he felt came from Cole. Someone was coming to help him._

_"Who is Bree?" it asked and Malcolm reacted for the first time. "The one I attacked."_

_"I will die before I submit," he snarled. "So give it your best shot."_

_The Wraith laughed to his defiance. "Oh I will enjoy you, young one." The Wraith's laugh made his skin crawl. He could defy it all day long but in the end he knew he would lose and he would lose spectacularly. His thoughts landed on Lily. He feared he'd never see her again and felt that pain briefly before he pushed it away to concentrate on giving the Wraith all the defiance he could conjure. He would never submit._

**

The awkward silence was awful. Bree led in a rush to get back to where she left Malcolm, Anders eyed Solas who, despite his best efforts, always landed in the middle. It irritated Anders that they'd left and Solas still hadn't said much about how they were going to help his son.

"What's your plan?" Anders asked with a demanding tone.

Solas ignored the tone as he ducked under a low branch his bay took him under. "The creature that has your son is a Wraith…well I call it a wraith…a demon spirit from another realm of magic. They crave power, the blood of an exceedingly powerful mage."

"Another realm of magic?" Anders questioned, curious but also irritated. "What does that mean?"

"The Relic isn't of this world," Bree informed and Solas allowed a smile.

"Correct. The Relic is from a civilization that existed long before even my own people," he said. "From Bree's recounting, when Malcolm touched the talisman it latched onto his power but your son is unique, the spirit that possesses him has given the Wraith the ideal host."

"My son is not possessed." It was now more or less an automatic response for him.

Solas figured that out after long bouts of reflection after his encounter. Something was very different about Malcolm and he knew that. "I know that, he is something else." He didn't know what but it was enough to worry him. "Nevertheless, the Wraith has possessed him."

That hit Anders like punch to the chest. "How do you know all this? If the only writing is a book no one can read and far flung 'ruins' how do you know what this is?"

"I'm a Dreamer," he answered and Bree pulled Kyp to a sharp halt quickly figuring out where he going with his explanation.

"You went to the locations and dreamed," she said and Solas again gave her a smile, a truly bright young woman.

"Correct again, Da'len."

"But how? If it's that old-…"

Solas raised a hand. "It takes power and time to learn. I never dreamed anything in ruin," he explained. "I need to think."

"Bree, this is madness!" Anders snapped loudly.

She sighed heavily and looked to the sky. Anders had a point and she agreed with it. "He knows what he's talking about, Anders," she said taking Solas' side.

"Let's not forget _he's_ the reason the two of you came out here in the first place," he argued.

"And the only one who can possibly save your son's life," Solas butted in earning the mother of all glares from Anders. "Forgive me, Anders, we don't have time to argue about this. If I'm right, your son is in grave danger."

Anders made the briefest of eye contact with Bree and she shook her head sharply for him to let it go. The mage growled loudly but tabled his distrust, he didn't like Solas from the moment he met him, he always saw that he was hiding something.


	22. Power

Dragon Age  
“The Relic”

 

Chapter Twenty Two: Power

 

Bree rubbed the side of her face bearing Solas’ invisible mark. Solas noted her action but did not comment, the mark didn’t cause her pain unless he willed it. He didn’t look away when she saw him looking at her. “Does it hurt you?” he asked after a period of silence.

She thought of a sharp retort but decided against it. “No,” she answered simply. It was an honest answer because it really didn’t hurt…it just felt strange knowing that it was there. “Just feels…odd."

“Complete your task to me and it will be gone, Da’len,” he replied and she found herself growing accustom to him calling her that. For the longest time the only people who called her that were her mother and Balian. She didn’t like it but didn’t fight it.

Anders’ eyes narrowed upon hearing this not sure what deal with the devil Bree had made. It probably wasn’t good. He didn’t need to know what it was to infer that. “What task?”

Bree glanced back past Solas and to Anders. “Payment for Solas’ help,” she answered, before he could comment further she changed the subject. “Tell me more about the Wraith,” Bree requested slowing Kyp so she could ride next to Solas.

The Elf casually looked over to her. “Such as?”

“How do we kill it?”

Solas thought a moment. He’d seen the Wraiths in the dreams he did manage to have and each reminded him of corrupted spirits but didn’t embody one specific emotion or virtue. “From what I’ve seen they’re tied to a specific item like an amulet or-…”

“A talisman.”

“Precisely,” he replied with a gentle smile. “These Wraiths desire power, I saw one possess a mage consume it and move to another.”

Bree didn’t like the sound of that and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in having Solas teach her how to Dream like he did. “So we destroy the talisman?”

“If it can be destroyed yes but I fear it will be much harder…your friend may not survive.”

Anders had tuned into the conversation but up until then hadn’t said anything. “My son is not so easy to kill,” he growled.

Malcolm was dangerous. Plain and simple. “Your son is a truly special mage, Anders. I’ve never encountered anyone like him. How long as he harbored the spirit?”

He didn’t like talking about this but answered him. “I don’t know. His power manifested when he was 6 and it was present then.”

Solas thought that truly unusual and, despite the situation, a mystery he was happy to solve. “Was Tess with child at Adamant?”

Anders bristled but answered away. “I’m not sure.” It was a true answer, they found out she was pregnant shortly after the siege at Adamant but it was nearly impossible to determine when they had conceived. Maybe this mage he’d rather see dead was onto something, maybe Malcolm was born with the spirit because they were physically in the Fade when Vengeance left to fight the Nightmare.

Solas harrumphed quietly and went back to Bree’s original question. “Unfortunately, at this moment I don’t know exactly how to kill it.” It troubled him and Bree could see it but it was an honest answer so no one rebutted with a comment.

**

Bree knew they were close to their destination, it wasn’t the surroundings that tipped her off it was the magical feel in the air and the gentle vibration in the Fade that both she and Solas were sensitive to. They also could feel the ground vibrating as well, the horses were becoming nervous. Bree knew that it was Malcolm and she couldn’t imagine the level of magic he was producing for them to feel it this far away.

Solas was unnerved. He hadn’t sensed this much power in a very long time and they couldn’t even see him yet. It occurred to him that saving this mage was a huge mistake but he followed Bree. He’d told her he’d try to save him and he was going to do just that.

They dismounted and went the rest of the way on foot, they were losing the light but it was still bright enough for them to see. There was a figure near and the three of them collectively cocked their heads.

“Cole?” Bree questioned seeing the strange rogue standing before them. “What are you doing here?”

The spirit approached them with the eerie movement that reminded Bree of Malcolm, how could she not have seen what Malcolm was before. “Watching over him,” he replied and turned to look at Malcolm pacing in the distance. “Someone please help me,” Cole begged and looked to the others. He wasn’t speaking of himself he was referring to Malcolm. “He’s scared. And he’s losing.”

“How did you know?” Anders inquired and Cole looked at him directly.

Cole always knew if something was wrong with Malcolm, he’d never feel it to this degree but the bond he shared with Malcolm couldn’t be explained. “I felt him. I can always feel him.”

Bree gave him the look her mother had given everyone who knew what Malcolm was and never shared. “You knew he was possessed.”

“Yes.” Cole answered.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Now she sounded like her mother.

“No one asked.”

A thousand responses flooded her mind but she couldn’t settle on one. He knew the whole time and never said anything because no one asked. She heard Solas chuckle softly and wanted to punch him.

**

Malcolm was pacing, the Wraith had him now but didn’t have full control. The Wraith had been trying to leave the site for a while but couldn’t get its would-be host to comply. It fought him every step but the spirit of Justice was worse, the mage was strange…and appeared to require the spirit to survive. The Wraith could replace the spirit but the form called Justice was hard to eradicate.

It sensed the presence of three more mages and the lingering presence of something else that had been there for a while. It had been too preoccupied with the internal war to worry about the other being that had shown up but kept its distance.

The red eyes of the Wraith dredged up the memory of the last time Bree had seen them and she swallowed hard. She’d never forget those eyes trying to kill her. Solas took it all in; his appearance, the magic charge in the air, all of it. Anders had seen it all in his lifetime, from life at the circle to the Architect to physically entering the Fade at Adamant, as such, not much bothered him, but seeing those alien red eyes gave him a dreadful feeling.

“Malcolm,” Anders breathed as the paternal instinct to protect his son nearly overpowered him.

The Wraith was focusing on the most powerful of them, Solas, but shifted to Anders after being addressed. “The one called Malcolm is dead.”

Anders twirled his staff, the signature move indicating he was ready to fight. “You will give me my son back or I will drive you out myself,” He tamped his staff down and a pulse of creation magic dissipated the thick ambient magic that hung in the air. As soon as he did that the Wraith responded the way Anders figured it would.

The Wraith’s chain lightening hit everyone in its path. Solas shouldered it best and sent a bolt of his own back smacking the double possessed mage square in the chest. He barely registered it and Solas blinked. The initial attack told Solas a lot, the Wraith was amplifying the power and resistance somehow but it was also attacking the same way it’s host would telling him that the Wraith was using Malcolm’s knowledge.

The group scattered when the Wraith attacked again focusing on Anders and Cole since the rogue managed to get too close. He attacked them with lightening and dropped a heavy gravity fist on Solas and Bree. Solas was a bit surprised that the mage was able to cast both at the same time. Malcolm was a truly astonishing mage.

Malcolm struggled against the Wraith, he was aware of his actions but it was fuzzy, like a dream. He was hurting those he loved and so he fought. The three forms of Malcolm showed in rapid sequence many times. “I…will not...be CONTROLLED!” His distorted voice ended with his own. He had the Wraith quelled for the moment but knew it wouldn’t last. He dropped to his knees and clenched his fists close to his chest.

“Mal,” he heard his father say and saw him reach out to touch him.

“No!” he cried. “Stay away. I can’t…get away. Get away now.”

Anders ignored it his son’s frantic warning. Cole hung back leery of how Malcolm felt. “Malcolm,” Anders said and touched his son’s shoulder. Malcolm jumped to his feet quickly to get away.

“Stay away! Don’t touch me!”

“We’re here to help you.”

“No one can help me,” the spirit said and he was starting to lose it again. The Wraith was winning. “Stay away.”

“Malcolm, listen to me!” Anders barked. He watched his son warring with the thing that possessed him. “You fight this! You hear me? Fight!” His son was the strongest person he’d ever known, no mage came close to him and that wasn’t just the proud father side of him thinking that.

Fighting the Wraith caused Malcolm physical pain. He screamed and lost to the Wraith. The eyes changed to the red and without preamble released lightening from his right hand into Cole and Anders. It was so strong it knocked them back and another from the other hand. The force of it should have killed them.

_Being completely aware of what he was doing drove him mad. He saw his father take the lightening to the chest. “STOP!!” Malcolm yelled in the Fade violently taking control back from the Wraith. His nose bled in the Fade and in the real but he forced the Wraith to relinquish control._

The attack ceased and he turned away with his head in his hands screaming away the pain in his head. He tasted the blood now streaming from his nose and felt a warm sticky substance coming from his ears too. Fighting the Wraith was going to kill him. He had to end this, he was losing this fight no matter how valiantly he fought. Malcolm couldn’t bear to watch helplessly as his power killed people he cared about. The Wraith pressed him but he fought against it, he felt the drain of his power which meant Justice was losing the battle as well. He pulled the knife from his boot and held it to his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Mal, no!” he heard everyone yell but his father’s voice rang through perfectly.

“I won’t hurt anyone else!” he said and drew the knife down the left side of his neck aiming for his carotid.

Anders saw the blood and felt like he was going to be sick in the middle of all this. It wasn’t the sight of the blood it was the sight of his son’s blood as he tried to take his own life. The few seconds to realize that the Wraith had seized control and managed to shallow the cut felt like a lifetime to Anders but despite it all he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his son was still alive.

His relief was momentary as the Wraith gained a firm hold on Malcolm, eyes flashing red and immediately attacking. Lightening from both hands hit Anders and Cole; Bree raised the Aegis deflecting some of the arching bolts from herself and Solas.

“Malcolm, stop!” Bree yelled as he turned his attention to the barrier that kept sending his bolts back to him or in far off corners. “Malcolm!”

The Wraith saw the Aegis as a challenge again and focused more hitting her with all the power he could muster with force.

The Aegis was impenetrable but its time was limited. If it ran out before Malcolm tapped out of mana the amount of force he as throwing at them would crush them. “He can’t penetrate the Aegis,” Solas called staying well within the barrier. It was smaller than what her mother could produce but Bree didn’t have the anchor for support. It wouldn’t last forever. “Keep him busy.”

“Great plan!” she snapped back and conjured more power as her mother had taught her to reinforce it but time was running out. He was focusing it all on her.

Solas ignored the backtalk and created the strongest dispel glyph he’d ever done. It worked last time he fought him and he hoped that it would work this time. The ancient mage dropped it squarely on Malcolm’s head and double possessed mage staggered and dropped to one knee. Solas expected the next move from his previous encounter. The mage drew the blades and attacked heading for Bree.

Malcolm never made past another rogue that appeared in front of him. The Antivan slashers clanged loudly against the Dwarven made daggers that belonged to Cole. It may have looked like Malcolm but it didn’t fight with the precision that Malcolm had. The Wraith may have been using his knowledge but a rogue was different than a mage.

“I know you’re in there.” Cole said pushing back against him causing the blade to screech against each other.

“Malcolm is dead,” the Wraith replied as they fought.

That was a lie; Malcolm was very much alive as was Justice. “Wrong,” Cole said, he could feel Malcolm slipping but he was there.

The only fight that would have been more intense to watch would have been Malcolm versus Zevran but this was quick and brutal. Malcolm was aiming to kill and Cole was aiming to contain. Two unique beings pitted against each other.

The Wraith caught Cole on the right cheek with a blade and Cole finally had enough. He slashed his right hand causing him to drop the right Antivan Slasher and pressed his hand onto Malcolm’s temple. “Sleep.”

The Wraith wearing Malcolm’s body collapsed.

Anders’ body was still tingling; Malcolm’s power was immense and shocking to say the least. “Why don’t you lead with that next time?” he snapped as Bree helped him to his feet.

“It won’t last forever.” The strange rogue replied putting his daggers away as they clustered around Malcolm’s crumpled body. “Violent, vicious, red…pushing, pressing, powerful.”

After what Solas had just seen they had no time to waste. Cole’s unique power to subdue Malcolm and company wouldn’t last forever. “We must enter the Fade and confront the Wraith there. Bree and I can enter at will Anders-…”

“I know the ritual.” Anders cut him off kneeling next to Malcolm tenderly brushing the hair from his face. His hand lit up to heal the cut on his neck but Solas barked a warning.

“Do not heal him.” The glare from Anders could have curdled milk, Solas understood his need to protect his son but it was dangerous. “Do not touch him and do not heal him, either one could make you a target for it.”

All Anders wanted to do was save him and he’d do anything to accomplish that. “I’ll gladly take my sons place.”

“Commendable, however, you are not strong enough…not nearly. It will subsume you and move on. No. It must stay within Malcolm,” Solas didn’t give Anders much time to argue and turned to Cole. “Cole, if we cannot excise the Wraith you must kill him.” Solas went on and Anders shot back to his feet.

“Excuse me?”

Solas was growing irritated and it showed on his face. “Your son is the most powerful mage I have ever seen in this world. That Wraith is from an entirely unknown plane and it will kill us all if it manages to get complete control of him.”

“I am not going to let you murder my son because you want to get rid of a rival,” Anders snarled.

He couldn’t help but feel offended, he said he would help and that was what he was prepared to do. “If I wanted to do that I wouldn’t have helped at all. I will honor the agreement with Bree and help save your son but if we cannot he must die. He knows it too…that’s why he tried to take his own life.” Solas had a point and Anders saw it he just had trouble getting behind it. His tone softened understanding that this was very difficult for Anders. “You must trust me, Anders; I will do everything in my power to save your son.”

“We’ll get him out,” Bree added with a tone that ended the discussion. She sounded like her mother and Solas nearly smiled. “We don’t have time to argue about this.”

“Anders, prepare yourself. Bree, the talisman.” Everything needed to be done quickly and Bree returned with the box containing the talisman she should have left buried.

Solas set the talisman, box and all, on the ground and lightly tugged on Bree’s arm to pull her around it and stand beside him. It was a strange action to Bree, almost like something her father would do to protect her. He passed her his staff and with both hand hovering over the ancient relic uttered an Elven incantation that she couldn’t really understand. It was an old dialect of that she was sure of, his hand glowed with blue magic and his eyes changed like Malcolm’s did when the spirit had him. She didn’t pretend to understand Solas or his magic but he was fascinating to watch.

The talisman vibrated and was incased in a blue that was so bright it was nearly white. Solas continued the incantation and his hands shook like he was struggling against an unseen force, eyes closed and totally focused. The magic in the air changed and seemed to all pull toward them, or more specifically the talisman, and then she realized what he was doing. Suddenly, Solas clapped his hands together in a manner that showed the finality of it. With an otherworldly screeching scream the talisman imploded and shattered into dust.

“You used the ambient magic to overload and destroy it,” she said and Solas gave her a smile like he was proud of her.

Not quite but she was close. “Simplified, but yes,” he replied with a smile. “With the talisman gone we should be able to vanquish the Wraith and release Malcolm.”

“Should?” she questioned and put a hand on his arm to stop him from moving. “Solas.”

There were no guarantees. They were dealing with magic and beings that were only seen by one Dreamer. He could make this worse but he had to be confident. If he failed to kill the Wraith in the Fade then he could simply kill Malcolm and eliminate the issue that way. He looked down at her hand on his arm. “This won’t be easy, Da’len.”

The staves were set in a triangle around all those going into the Fade, added power that was merely a drop in a bucket but better than nothing. Cole sat cross legged at Malcolm’s head with the everite slashers in his lap. His job was to watch over them and kill a young man he’d bonded with years before. He also had the perfect opportunity to kill Solas, sleeping and vulnerable, but he dismissed that after a moment’s consideration.

**

_Bree had never entered the Fade in a situation like this before, the danger in the air it got worse when she was there standing in the middle of it. The ruin restored to its previous self in a way she never imagined. Solas and Anders were there. She found herself wanting to learn from Solas…everything he did seemed so easy but this was the man who had put her family through so much pain._

_Her attention shifted to the task at hand and the trio moved to the vibrating magic._

_Malcolm was in the center of the fully restored temple, the design one that Bree and Anders had never seen. It matched the architecture that Cole managed to describe and Bree got her first look at a temple millions of years in the past. The mage was slumped on his knees with the Wraith nowhere to be found._

_“Malcolm!” Anders was in front of him in seconds. Every injury he’d shown in the real was reflected in the Fade. The cut on his hand and neck and blood was coming from his nose and ears. He looked terrible. Drained and tired but still hanging on._

_“Father,” Malcolm pleaded. He was hanging on…barely. “Father, please help me.”_

_Anders had never heard his son cry and this was as close as he got, he was struggling and it showed. Anders felt his heart break. He cupped his son’s face in his hands. “I will, my boy, I’m here.”_

_Malcolm’s sea blue eyes disappeared flashing spirit blue, a familiar eerie sight. “We do not have much time,” the Spirit’s voice said through Malcolm and then a blue ethereal form materialized behind Malcolm’s form._

_Anders blinked still shocked by this and rose to his feet. “Justice?” he asked but he kicked himself for that, of course it was Justice._

_“I am the exemplar of Justice shaped by your son…I am not entirely the Justice that you knew.”_

_Anders had about a billion questions that were unanswered by Justice. The Fade or the situation seemed to separate the two into mage and spirit, any other time they were the exact same person. Malcolm was Justice and Justice was Malcolm. He really only had one question: Why? Why Malcolm?_

_“Solas?” Bree asked and the Elf looked like he was thinking._

_“We need to hurry. If the demon gains full control of Malcolm’s mind it will corrupt and absorb Justice for power, not to mention the impact it will have on the Fade.”_

_“Impact on the Fade?” Bree asked._

_“The Wraith does not belong here, the Fade makes it powerful but it cannot move freely. If left to its own devices it could damage the Fade. You have to kill it here,” Justice explained and looked as if it heard something. “We have to hurry.”_

_The red entity formed but didn’t attack; it formed in Malcolm’s image much like Justice and surveyed the group. “How interesting,” it sing-songed. Not only to the presence of those before it but also to the little trick that knocked Malcolm cold. It decided to deal with the strange being responsible later. “What do you expect to do?”_

_‘Cheeky fucker,’ Bree thought. “You’re going to let him go.”_

_The Wraith directed it attention to her in a subtle way, all it had to do was wait and Malcolm would be his. There was no way the young mage could hold out forever. “No,” it said and shifted to Solas. “You however…”_

_“You will not find me so easy to possess.” Solas replied coldly and Wraith backed off, wary of the mage who felt different from the rest._

_“Leave him, now,” Bree ordered._

_“I will not,” it snarled and leapt for the one that it deemed the weakest, the one he knew as Bree. Bree didn’t need the aegis or anyone to protect her she activated the spirit blade, side stepped and slashed the red entity across the abdomen._

_It shrieked painfully then roared angrily at her. “Leave!” she ordered and it refused._

_The Wraith made the effort to avoid the weapon she had since the damage it caused was immense. “No!” The situation deteriorated as the entity attacked her, it couldn’t body hop but it attempted to focus on Bree. It slashed at her and shrilled as the Spirit Blade caught its taloned hand. It roared at her in anger and pain moving to attack with all its might._   
_Anders attacked it before it could get to Bree and its weakness was found. Spirit damage hurt it._

_It was mad, madder than it had been, its host nearly useless at the moment and the pain the weapons used by the one called Anders and the one called Bree frightened it. “I will devour you all!!” it roared loudly._

_“LEAVE!” Anders roared and he stamped the staff down hard to reiterate his order. The Fade vibrated. The Wraith seemed to grow in size and slashed out at Anders but this hit was blocked by the staff that emitted painful power. It lunged for him but was intercepted heavily by a blue entity. Justice and the Wraith collided and Malcolm felt the drain on his already weakened body._

_Bree knelt down before Malcolm and cupped her hands on his face. “Hold on, Mal,” she said quietly and closed her eyes. Dreamers could do more than just enter the Fade at will; if they focused enough they could alter perceptions of the Fade, other people’s Dreams, and even kill someone. She didn’t need to kill Malcolm but she needed to alter his perception of it, and there by the Wraith’s. The thing was powerful and it fed on Malcolm’s strength, she needed to trick it._

_Solas figured out what she was doing and cast a spell on Malcolm and Bree, the more the Wraith and Justice fought the faster it drained him. It was clear that Malcolm couldn’t live without the Spirit and the situation had pushed them to the brink._

_The Wraith shrieked in fear for the first time as a measure of strength surged back to Malcolm and waned from the Wraith. Justice seized the opportunity and struck it hard. It roared angrily and tried to escape Justice by attacking Anders. Anders struck with his staff and it was easy to discover that any spirit damage was effective._

_“It’s weak…we must destroy it,” Justice called._

_The Wraith targeted Solas next. The ancient mage raised a barrier and repelled its attack making it scream again in anger. It renewed its effort to control Malcolm and his scream of pain Bree felt too. “Stay with me, brother, stay with me,” he heard her say in his head._

_“I will have you all!!” the Wraith roared as it came away from Solas’ barrier._

_“Then come get it!” Anders roared back in kind. “You want power? Then you shall have it!” Anders planted his staff into the ground with a mighty grunt and the Fade vibrated._

_Anders wasn’t the greatest mage alive but he’d learned a great deal over the years, Tess was by far one of the best teachers he’d ever met but the Warden-Commander taught him more than anyone else in his life. Gripping the Lyrium enhanced staff with his right hand he summoned an orb of light in his left, cleansing magic._

_Solas felt the magic in the area increase and cast his second spell to protect Bree and Malcolm. He was committed; if nothing else he’d persevere to protect Bree._

_The cleansing magic brightened and Solas could see an enormous amount of spirit energy beginning to manifest, swirling around the veteran Spirit Healer._

_“You will not have my son,” Anders growled the steadfast determination in his voice and expression never wavered. The Wraith roared angrily as the intense light magic took the desired effect. Everything Anders had from his strength to his own life force went to the powerful old magic he was casting. He could feel the drain on his life, he was fading rapidly._

_The light had fully engulfed them so bright you couldn’t look at it. Solas multitasked maintaining the spell on Bree and Malcolm and maintaining the barrier. He heard the Wraith scream but this wasn’t its angry, violent roar…this was a scream of desperation. Anders was hurting it._

_It roared a powerful, angry, painful sound but Anders was deaf to it. ‘Almost there,’ Anders thought. Just as he was ready to release the channeled energy he’d built up he heard a voice in his head, a familiar one. “He would have died in the womb leaving the Fade.” It was Justice, answering the one question he never got an answer to. Why did you take my son? Justice saved his son’s life._

_“Goodbye, my friend,” he said out loud to Justice. He couldn’t hold the power anymore, it reached its peak and now it was time to end this. “I’m sorry, my love,” he muttered hoping that Tess would understand, hoping that Malcolm would understand. He released the massive ball of magic he’d pulled from himself and the fade and the power manifested into a great orb sucking the sound from the Fade before exploding in a deafening crack._

Cole felt Anders’ staff vibrate to his left and he looked at Anders’ sleeping body. “No,” he said as he felt the mage die.

Malcolm, Bree, and Solas all awoke like they’d been startled from sleep by a loud sound. Solas and Bree clutched their heads and screamed in agony. The pain shooting through the pair of Dreamers was worse than any migraine or misfired spell. Solas felt the energy of the Fade shift on a basic level, the magic Anders had called on nearly ripped the Veil wide open. He’d witnessed some awe inspiring things in his extremely long life but that was truly a sight. A father calling on ancient magic like that to save his son wasn’t something he’d ever forget.

Malcolm gasped several times, he was whole again. Justice was with him, the Wraith was gone and so was the pain. “Father,” he panicked as he remembered what Justice saw. “Dad!” He repeated and scrambled over to Anders’ still body. A death in the Fade usually resulted in a tranquil mage, this was different, he could feel it. “No. No. No. No,” he begged and his hands hovered over him. He was shaky and weak but he was going to try everything. He felt what his father did, saw what Justice had. The white healing orbs disappeared but there was nothing left to save. “No, Dad, no...,” he sounded as heartbroken as anyone could be. Malcolm couldn’t help but sob as he gathered his father’s limp body up into his arms. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he sobbed cradling him in his lap.

Bree came up to him ignoring the migraine and as she touched his back he flinched. “Mal.”

This was his fault – no it was _her_ fault – she brought him here. “Get away from me,” he snarled angrily but she ignored it, she wasn’t going to leave him.

“Mal-…”

“NOW!” he roared and a pulse of magic emanated from him knocking her away and the rest flat on their backs. He’d never been so upset.

**

Malcolm felt whole again but he also felt a piece of him had been ripped away. His father was a big part of his life no matter how much they’d fought. For him to die like that, however noble…it should never have happened. He ignored them all, Solas included. He walked giving his father precedence with Kyp. The black beast was spirited but walked quietly with him as if he knew situation. He’d lost complete track of time but hadn’t lost his way. He found home quickly.

“Mal,” Lily said and ran into his arms. He didn’t look well, he looked terrible to be frank and she hugged him tight. He closed his eyes and squeezed her; he could stay here for the rest of his life. Lily noticed the body slung over Kyp and gasped.

“I’m alright.” He replied automatically knowing she recognized the body. “I need to get a pyre going.”

She put a hand on his cheek but saw the light in him had dwindled, she didn’t know what happened to him but he looked like the definition of sadness. “Mal…”

“I’m alright.” He said but she didn’t believe him. He could never lie to her…for as long as he’d known her she could see right through him.

“No you’re not,” she replied gently and he took her hand kissing it.

He couldn’t respond, he didn’t know how to respond. He squeezed her hand and tended to his father.

Preparing the body was a task that only Malcolm was suited for. As he removed certain things from his father’s body he thought about how he was going to tell his mother about this. How could he tell her that he died to save him? How could he tell her that this was his fault? All he’d needed to do was tell Bree no. She’d gotten him into trouble before but nothing like this. They had an equal share in his father’s death but she was far from forgiven.

He took the wedding band off knowing his mother would want to have it and the necklace his father had always worn. A curious necklace that he’d been told was a gift from his mother, a Tevinter Chantry amulet that Anders never took off.

He scratched the bandage on his neck and hissed at its tenderness. He could heal that and the cut on his hand from Cole but he decided not to. They were reminders. At least, that what he told himself.

“Want me to change it?” Lily asked suddenly appearing on his left.

Malcolm shook his head. “No. No, I’ll tend it.”

She wrapped her arms around his left arm and laced her right fingers to his. “What happened?”

**

Before the funeral pyre could proceed Chasind came from the woodwork to pay their respects to the healer that had resided in the Wilds for years. Anders healed all sorts and he never asked for payment. He cured fever, mended bones, delivered children…Malcolm saw how loved his father really was.

Malcolm’s eyes fell on Bree who had kept her distance from him after his outburst. He felt angry when he saw her, thought about her. She brought him there. He was also ashamed to blame her as well. All he had to do was say no. He pushed it to the back of his mind and returned his attention to those who had gathered.

Solas observed him, he knew his welcome would quickly be overstayed but he was extremely curious about the young man. Malcolm was the most unique mage he ever seen in his life…ever. He took a chance to talk to him. Malcolm felt…different. “How are you?” he asked seeming to startle the young man as he looked on. Malcolm said nothing in reply but he did give the enemy mage a strange look. “I can sense something different…something that Wraith did to you and I suppose you know it as well.”

Not an overstatement, he really didn’t feel like himself but he couldn’t place what was wrong. The Wraith was the most horrifying experience he’d ever had. He knew he was going to have nightmares until he died. He still didn’t know why Solas was actually talking to him. He returned his attention to aimlessly watching Vanna pay her respects.

Solas was quiet for a moment. He respected Anders more in death then he did in life…it was a horrible thing to think but he would never forget what he saw. “It’s strange to realize that Bree ran to me to save you but it wasn’t me who actually did it,” Solas said and Malcolm turned his look to him. “You are a truly extraordinary young man, Malcolm Hawke.”

Malcolm scoffed as Solas got the first reaction out of him. “Extraordinary? My father is dead because of my ‘extraordinariness’,” he hissed.

Solas shook his head. “That’s not entirely true. You were a victim of circumstance. The Wraith sensed your power as it sensed mine but the spirit you harbor gave it the opportunity. You fought it. Refused to allow it to win.”

“Lot of good it did me,” he muttered.

Solas sighed, it really wasn’t his fault and he felt for him. “What your father did was extraordinary. It’s not often that I am impressed but I was…by him and by you.”

Malcolm was tired of this and felt strange, like a welling of magic that he couldn’t control. He felt like he was a kid again learning to control it. He’d never had a control problem. “Leave,” he snapped to Solas. “You helped save my life so I’ll spare you just this once.”

Solas wasn’t going to argue with him, he did what he promised Bree and even saw them back to safety. He nodded. He liked this young man…more than he really should since Malcolm was without a doubt his biggest threat. “Please pass my condolences for your loss to your mother,” he bowed respectfully and left.

Malcolm’s hand twitched, he wanted to kill him but there had been enough death, enough pain, and enough sadness. Solas was a complex man, that much was clear…the enemy of the Inquisition just came to help save his life. He briefly counted how many people would string him up for letting him go…he stopped counting at five.

**

Anders had a fear of having his corpse possessed and coming back as an Arcane Horror so he’s always told Tess that he wanted to be burned and not buried. Malcolm overheard this wish and honored it. As troubled as he was, as difficult as he always had been he never meant to hurt anyone. So when Malcolm lit the pyre he said one single verse of the Chant. His father hated the Chantry but his mother taught it to him. He settled on a verse from the Trials that had always stuck with him. Maybe it was because of Justice. “Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven.”

Malcolm hissed as Lily pulled the bandage off his neck. He said he would handle it himself but it turned out she helped him anyway. “How did this happen?” she asked knowing a clean cut knife wound when she saw it.

There was no way he was going to elaborate. He remembered clearly the decision to take his own life to protect everyone. “You don’t want to know.”

She tossed the blood stained bandage away and picked up the clean wet cloth. “Why don’t you just heal it?”

It stung as she cleaned the dried blood away. The quick stitches he put it were holding and no infection was seen or smelled. “Because I don’t want to,” he answered quietly and she thought about pressing but decided her love had been through enough.

She prodded the wound making sure there was no pus and ignored Malcolm’s grimace. “Which poultice?” she asked and he didn’t answer for a moment. He was lost at the sight of her, Lily wasn’t a Healer but she had a gentle touch and a bedside manner to die for. She was also beautiful in her deerskin leggings and furs. Her long blonde hair was tied in a solid braid that hung over her left shoulder. “Mal?”

He blinked and pointed to the bowl he mixed up earlier. “That one. Be generous with it.” The sticky mix of herbs stung like mad as she was as gentle as possible. “Ah, damn that stings worse than I remember.”

“What about the one on your hand?”

“You enjoying playing Healer?” he flirted and she giggled and blushed.

“You seem to enjoy playing the Healer.”

“Depends on who I’m healing,” he was flirting with her and she was happy to see the playful side of him cut through the apparent sadness. She rolled the cloth around his neck to secure its place. Bandaging a neck was tricky. “Not that tight.”

She wasn’t a healer but this wasn’t her first time. She’d bandaged wounds before and watched Malcolm and Anders work. “Relax; I’m not going to choke you.” Malcolm chuckled to her comment.

Bree appeared at the threshold and swallowed hard. “Mal?” she questioned and he turned to her but said nothing.

“Leave him alone,” Lily spoke up with a protective tone as she wiped her hands off. The next bandage to tend to on his hand could wait. “You’ve done enough.”

Bree’s attention shifted to Lily, the hunter’s desired effect. “I had no idea this would happen,” she said trying to figure out a way to apologize to Malcolm.

“Well it did. They wouldn’t have been out there if it wasn’t for you.” Lily’s words were completely correct but there was nothing Bree could do to take it back.

Malcolm’s eyes flicked between them and smiled internally at Lily’s valiant defense of him. Her tone would have made him defend Bree but right now he didn’t want to. The idea of that disgusted him but so did the idea that it was her fault.

The loss for words Bree felt was breathtaking. No apology could ever make up for this. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not going to bring him back,” she snarled in reply. Malcolm still remained silent. “Go. Leave him be for a night.” Bree backed off and heeded the clear warning from the Chasind girl and left. Lily turned back to him and was a little less gentle in removing the soiled bandage on his hand. “She can go be with that lurker.”

To that Malcolm spoke. “Be nice. Cole helped save us all.”

His tone told her to tread carefully as she repeated the process on his hand that she’d done on his neck. “He’s strange.”

“He’s like me…sort of. He’s the Spirit of Compassion; you’ll probably forget you ever met him in the morning.” The wound on his hand hurt less than the one on his neck. He should just heal it and be done with it but he treated that like the one on his neck. Only this one Cole gave him. “He always knows when I’m in trouble and he always comes to help.”

**

Bree wasn’t surprised when Solas vanished without as much as a word. Being bound to him meant that he could find her whenever he wished. She stood outside in the chilly night air and sighed heavily. She tried not to think about what would happen when she got back to Skyhold. How was she going to explain all this? Could she even explain it?

“You alright?” a voice asked and she turned to see Cole.

“You seem to be asking me that a lot lately.” She commented.

“You seem to be getting into trouble a lot lately,” he rebutted. “He’s hurting and very confused but he still loves you.”

Bree didn’t respond to that, Malcolm just sat there and didn’t defend her when Lily spoke her mind. “But he blames me.”

Cole nodded, he knew that and there was nothing anyone could do to change that until Malcolm came to terms with it all. “You cannot give him the Relic, Bree.”

Bree heard his words and wrestled with that, she had so much on her mind she didn’t know what to do. She had some time to figure it out; the trip back to Skyhold was going to take some time. She didn’t sleep that night, she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her mind and she didn’t want to open herself up to Solas. Not yet…not until she came to terms with her bargain and his mark. She’d never been so unraveled and confused.

The horses were readied by Bree, she couldn’t sleep but Malcolm still wouldn’t talk to her. Even when he saw that she had groomed and saddled Kyp for him. He patted Kyp’s neck and spared her a single glance over the horse’s back before turning away.

Lily was not happy, not at all. “Why are you leaving again? Stay here...” Malcolm sighed; he was so tired but wanted to get this done.

He secured his father’s staff to Kyp and turned to her. “I have to. I have to tell my mother what happened and get her home safe.” Bree was near and he knew that she could hear him.

“She ca-…” his look was enough to make her stop talking. There was only so much abuse he would let her take no matter how he felt about this. “Every time you leave something bad happens.”

He stepped closer and leaned down to kiss her. He didn’t want to leave her but he had to. “I love you,” he said softly as he pulled her into him. “And I’m coming back and I’m gonna stay.”

Bree could feel Cole staring at her. He knew that she was bound to Solas and Solas wanted the Relic, he also knew that she had to have made some kind of deal just to get him to help. He was worried about her and it showed. She mounted the bay gelding settling in the saddle. She missed Skye.

Snow was setting in at Skyhold but the road was still passable. Malcolm was silent, not the same person that she knew before they made a mess. She thought about talking to him, trying to start some kind of conversation with him but she decided not to. Cole was his usual chatty self so Bree didn’t engage in too much conversation. It left her a lot of time to think…how was she going to explain this?

As they crossed the bridge into the fortress it didn’t take long for the craziness to begin. Ulrich took the horses but took in their somber expressions and didn’t say much else.  
“Where have you been?” Khrys demanded at the sight of Bree and Malcolm.

Malcolm was finding it difficult to control his powers now and the fortress vibrated for a moment. “Where’s my mother?” he asked clenching his fists tight and forcing himself to focus on control.

She narrowed her eyes at his tone and could see something was wrong. “Garden,” she answered hearing the seriousness in his voice. He left quickly without anything else to say and Khrys’ attention turned to Bree. “What happened?”

“Anders is dead.”

**

Holding the staff was unsettling for Malcolm, it wasn’t that is was his father’s staff, he’d held and even used Freedom’s Call on numerous occasions but it felt unsettlingly different now. The stave’s magic had shifted, somehow it had shifted.

He saw Tess across the garden and dreaded the next few moments. He didn’t want to tell her any of this but when she spied him he knew he was committed.

“Where’ve you been, young man?” her tone of motherly displeasure almost made him feel normal but that passed. She saw the look on his face and noticed the staff, something Malcolm didn’t carry. Her husband wouldn’t willingly part with the magical item so she knew something had happened. “No…”

Malcolm saw her quickly deduce it and the rest was a blur, an emotional, traumatic blur. At some point they ended up in Skyhold’s small chapel.

She sat at one of the pews and Malcolm leaned the unnerving staff against the wall remaining silent as he looked at the tall statue of Andraste. His faith was dubious on a good day but he felt more at ease here in this room than he had in days.

“I gave him a pyre at home,” he said quietly. His mother looked like she was in a state of shock. She’d nearly lost Anders several times but her husband was the most resilient man she’d ever known. “I…I thought you would want these.”

She took the wedding band and the Tevinter amulet she’d given him so long ago in Kirkwall. “I gave him this in Kirkwall,” she said quietly looking at the amulet. “He thought I was trying to get him killed…your father had trust issues when I met him,” she managed a slight chuckle at the jab at her late husband that he would have found amusing. “But once he put it on he never took it off…”

**

“You did what!?” Khrys exclaimed and her voice echoed off the rotunda walls. Balian sat down at the couch and laced his fingers across his stomach in quiet observation. The strange parental unit that he was technically a part of consisted of himself, Michel, Khrys, and Dorian…all were present and Bree looked terribly guilty of something.

“I’m sorry…all I wanted to do was help. I got Malcolm to come with me because I thought it would be safer with him.”

“Instead you got him into serious trouble,” Michel said sternly. He never pulled his punches with her, he was always honest and right now he wasn’t happy.

She swallowed hard and looked at the Chevalier. “I just wanted to help…the Wraith is a part of the same magic as the Relic…Solas said it predates his empire.” It all felt like an attack, an attack on her by those she loved.

Khrys’ glower deepened but Dorian beat her to the next question. “Why didn’t you come back here?” Dorian asked his tone just as stern as the others. He was the last to know about the map she referred to and it pissed him off.

“There was no time and like it or not Solas knows more about that thing downstairs then we do,” Bree replied and caught the quiet look from Balian, an indifferent but almost sympathetic look. The Elf observed the forceful inquisition but said nothing…for the moment.

“So you went to Solas? He kidnapped you and you went back willingly!?” Khrys said incredulously. She was furious with that idea. More furious then she had been in a long time and never more furious with her daughter.

Bree felt her personal armor hardening, as much of a mistake as her endeavor had been it was done and over and handled to the best of her ability. “He could help and he did.”

“You went to Solas!” her mother exclaimed again. “Leaving out the fact that you knew how to find him, the man is trying to destroy us all! He attacked Vigil’s Keep, killed Nathaniel, and then took you a-…”

“I know I was there,” Bree snarled in return.

Khrys’ posture straightened. “Are you giving me attitude, young lady?” she growled but Bree held her stare.

“How did Anders die?” Dorian asked as Khrys and Bree exchanged glowers.

Bree didn’t have much of an answer for that. She actually wasn’t sure. Solas had explained briefly that he used himself up to aid in destroying the Wraith. “He destroyed the Wraith and it killed him to do it.” Her tone told them that she felt responsible for her part in it all.

The fact they lost an ally like Anders and nearly lost Malcolm angered Michel. “We told you not to go. I told you not to go…it wasn’t safe. You went anyway and it clearly wasn’t safe.”

“Michel,” Balian warned but only got a glare from the Chevalier.

“I know it’s my fault and there’s nothing I can do to change that!” she yelled and walked away not even trying to hide the fact that she was crying.

The room wasn’t sure how to act once she left. It was her fault, she went after being told no, but she couldn’t have foreseen the mess that Malcolm got in. She did what she had to do even though Malcolm paid the price.

“Think you guys were a bit hard on her?” Balian commented and the other three exchanged awkward looks.

The short answer was, yes. The answer was also, no. It was a complicated situation. Michel was angry because he loved Bree just as much as they did and was as protective as they came. She made a mistake and she knew it and she needed to learn the consequences. Khrys and Dorian were angry for it all…she saw Solas, left without permission, and a very dear friend was dead.

Balian didn’t say much but didn’t need to on most occasions. Dorian felt he was right, they were a bit hard on her. “Damnit,” he cursed and walked away going after his daughter.

“I told her not go,” Michel grumbled to Khrys and she nodded. She was there when they’d both said no.

“I know,” she replied and rubbed her forehead as Balian got to his feet.

“It’s not like she planned what happened,” the scarred Elf said. “You all should lighten up. We’ve all made mistakes,” he said and walked away leaving them to glower on their own.  
Dorian tapped on his daughter’s door. There was no answer but he entered away. “Gabriella?” Any admonishment he had been considering vanished when he saw her crying in near hysterics. It didn’t matter how angry or upset he was, he fell victim to the classic father weakness: if your daughter is crying it doesn’t matter why, you do anything to stop it. “Shhh…it’s okay,” he soothed and sat down to comfort her in his arms.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried as she let it all go at that moment.

There was no talking to her, there was just letting her cry it all out. “I know. I know. It’s okay.” As big of a mistake she’d made she’d had no intention of hurting anyone. She loved Malcolm like a brother and by the description of what happened Malcolm was traumatized and angry.

Skyhold shook in one violent vibration startling everyone at the table. Khrys yelped as her plate jumped a few inches. Michel, Dorian, and Balian straightened it all out. “He needs to get some control over that.” Khrys commented knowing the source of it was Malcolm and his overclocked power.

“He lost his father and went through a very traumatic event outside of that,” Dorian defended straightening out the dishes in front of him.

“Do we know exactly what he is now?” Michel asked.

“A very troubled young man,” Khrys answered. “He was powerful before…Tess says he’s even more so now.”

Tess felt the pulse of magic shake the castle to its core and knew who it had come from. Force Mages were rare but she’d trained him and knew his control was a mess right now.

Her son was having a nightmare. Something in his dreams upset him so much he lost a measure of control. When she entered the room Skyhold began to vibrate again. He was up from the nightmare but having a tough time controlling himself now. The castle shook more as he struggled with it and the static in the room increased.

“Mal. Mal,” Tess coached and approached him carefully. “Stop. You’ll destroy the castle.” She took his hands and Malcolm managed to control himself.

Malcolm was upset at everything, something had changed in him and he wasn’t sure what. His power, which he’d always had a firm handle on, was all askew and harder to control. It scared him. Scared him so much he was afraid he would hurt someone or everyone. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re powerful, Mal, you always have been. Nothing has changed, you know how to control it.”

“I can’t…he died to save me…he died because of me.”

“Yes. You’re his son. He loved you so much he sacrificed himself,” she said.

“I didn’t want that. I never wanted that. I tried to kill myse-…” he trailed off as the words hung in his mouth. He tried to kill himself. The healing cut on his neck itched when he thought of it. Then he saw his father’s face bathed in the white light that destroyed the Wraith, a disorienting image from Justice. “I’m sorry, Mom. I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Your control is your love for all of us. Just like your father the innate Healer. Remember that, Malcolm, _that_ is your control,” she told him in a firm caring tone. She was the one who’d coached him so long ago and he tried to focus on that. Tried to remember that it was the fact that he loved his family so much it helped him control the destructive magic he had command of. There were other factors of course that he learned later but the basis of it all was love. He was a healer before he was a destroyer. As he thought of that the magic threatening to destroy it all quelled. It was merely a stop gap…he had become something more thanks to the Wraith.

**

Working on his control again made Malcolm feel like a child. His chosen place was on the ramparts, high up in the mountains seemed to help to control the force magic that was more dangerous than anything right now. He sat on the wall with his feet dangling and eyes closed; a calming practice that allowed him to focus, calmly, and methodically. It was harder this time though, when he was younger he only had the idea that he was different to contend with, only had to figure out how to reconcile the spirit that had shaped him. Now he had so much more, painful, frightening memories that haunted him forever. The pain of receiving the Wraith, he could still feel the pain though it was long gone, like taking an electrical charge to the brain a thousand times but never dying. He could hear himself screaming and his skin crawled. The attack on Bree…the first frightening event he saw through his own eyes. Her scream was something he would never forget. He’d attacked his own father and then tried to take his own life.

His father…they had butted heads since he was a kid but despite the shouting and fighting through the years he loved him and it was evident that his father loved him so much he died to save him. His father. His focus waned again as he heard the final words from Justice to Anders. The truth of how he came to be. His control drifted more and the ancient stones that made up Skyhold vibrated again. The memory of his mother sobbing when he told her pushed him further from steady control he had.

“I can help you forget.” Cole said suddenly appearing behind him.

Malcolm’s eyes opened and he looked at Cole, the vibration in the stone abruptly stopping. Cole wasn’t exactly the same as Malcolm but he was as close as he could get. They had bonded when they met, when Cole finished the training that Zevran started. Cole had always known what Malcolm was, had always seen the spirit in him, was the only one in Skyhold Malcolm had told. Cole never told anyone because no one had asked but he wouldn’t have anyway as Malcolm asked him not to tell anyone. “I don’t want to forget,” he replied not even noticing that the voice came from the spirit. It was difficult for him to tell now.

Cole could see right through him, he blamed himself and he blamed Bree. He decided to address the former first. “It was not your fault.”

“He died because of me, how it is not my fault?”

“He died to protect you,” he answered. “It’s not her fault either.”

Malcolm knew that, on some level he knew that Bree wasn’t to blame for any of this but it was hard to accept that this was some unfortunate accident. “I…I know.” The castle started to shake again as his control slipped with the memories. This was dangerous. He was a danger now. “That Wraith did something to me…something I can’t control.”

Cole put his right hand on Malcolm right forearm and the shaking ceased again. “I can help you.”

Malcolm considered it. If he let Cole work his magic what would he remember? Would he remember his father’s ultimate sacrifice? Would he remember the truth? “Could you make it temporary?”

“No.”

Malcolm slipped off the wall and looked at Cole. “Then no,” he decided. “I won’t forget him or what he did but a part of me died with that Wraith.” He gave a slight head bow to Cole and walked away, one thing was certain…he couldn’t stay in Skyhold.

“Nobody can save me now,” Cole uttered as he watched the troubled mage leave him.

Tess found her son in the familiar task of preparing Kyp for a long journey. She didn’t need to ask him what he was doing she could tell by how the horse looked. “Going somewhere?” she asked and Malcolm barely batted an eye to her.

“I can’t stay here,” he answered flatly.

“Malcolm-…”

“Please,” he cut her off. “you know I can’t stay…I will rip this castle down if I lose control again and I-…”

“I know. I understand, but you don’t have to do this alone. You have me, Khrys, Dorian, Bree…” his expression to Bree’s name made her change tones. “It was not her fault do you understand me?”

He looked affronted. “I know that.” But he still preferred to blame someone and she was it. “I’m going to go somewhere where I may not hurt anyone.”

“Take this,” she said presenting him with Freedom’s Call.

Malcolm hesitated but not just because it was his father’s famous staff but because it didn’t feel normal anymore. Just like how he felt, something wasn’t right and while he couldn’t put his finger on the issue with himself he knew that the staff now felt like the Relic only subtly. He took it and the thrumming coursed through him. It was unsettling and he quickly secured it to the saddle. He couldn’t let it go fast enough.

The fact that she and Malcolm had said six words to each other in weeks bothered Bree. Bothered her considerably but there wasn’t much she could do about it. If he didn’t want to say anything to her no one could make him but when she learned he was leaving she made a last ditch effort.

“I hear you’re leaving.” she said and Malcolm stopped in mid motion. He thought about turning to look at her but didn’t know how he’d handle that. He knew what happened wasn’t her fault. He knew that she didn’t kill his father but the teenager in him beat out the logical spirit. Seeing her made him think of it. Think of attacking her, think of the Wraith forcing his control, the excruciating pain. “I know you blame me…and that’s okay but I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mal.” When he didn’t turn to her after a moment she turned to walk away. Michel was right, this was her fault.

It hurt to know that he blamed her but it was her burden to bear. His father was dead and that was that. Hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her. Before she knew it she was wrapped in a hug from Malcolm. “I know it’s not your fault,” he said quietly. He could let her go like that. Couldn’t let her think that she nearly got him kill, got his father killed. “I love you,” he was gone as quickly as he arrived.

**

_Bree sat by the fire in her mother’s chambers of all places. It was strange even for her dream to be sitting there. Granted she spent a lot of time there when she was a child but Dreamer’s dreamt of places they wished. Perhaps she felt comfortable there. Her dream was complicated by the presence of Solas. Strange indeed._

_“Could you possibly leave me alone?” she muttered lacing her fingers where she sat and sighed heavily._

_Solas sat down in the chair across from her. It felt equally strange for him to be there…after all these years he’d only seen it a handful of times in Khrys’ dream. Last time he saw it was when Khrys nearly died of fever while pregnant. He looked at the bed that hadn’t changed from his memories and then looked at her. “It’s your dream not mine, Da’len.”_

_“Fantastic. Get out,” She said plainly._

_Solas chuckled. “How are you?” he asked, even in her dream she didn’t look well._

_She huffed and gave him a glare. Solas wasn’t in armor this time, he was in the same tan and green robes she remembered when he’d kidnapped her. He looked better in his armor, more dangerous. Now he just looked like an unassuming Elf. There was something attractive about him and it disturbed the hell out of her. “Solas, go away,” she ordered promptly._

_He ignored it. “How is Malcolm?”_

_She paused taking a moment before speaking. “Different,” she answered, it was the only answer she was willing to give and it was the truth. “Go away.”_

_Solas harrumphed quietly. That young man was a problem…a problem that he exacerbated. “The time has come.”_

_“You’ll get the Relic when I say so,” she responded with a bit of a growl._

_Solas blinked and nearly smiled at the defiance, he was careful not to anger her as the last time he did that in her dream she kicked him out and he had a headache for three days. “Now, Da’len,” he warned and the mark seared causing her to hiss. “I only have so much patience.”_

_“Get out!” she barked and Solas left willingly this time rather than receive the boot._

Bree woke in the middle of the night and sat up calmly. Solas would never let her be, he may not have been able to get into Skyhold with its defenses but if she denied him his will or went back on her word to give him the Relic she didn’t want to know what he would do. She thought of how she would do it. The Relic was guarded, it was unsettling to carry, and getting out of Skyhold would be decidedly more difficult now. She got up and paced, planning her move, planning on how to betray _everyone_.

**

Skyhold had gotten colder, much colder but the pass wasn’t blocked yet. Bree sat on her father’s horse in the valley in the outskirts of Herald. The black mare shifted under her clearly uneasy with the weather, the darkness, or the Relic in the saddlebag. The valley had gotten cold and it was threatening to snow. She pulled the fur cloak tighter, once she did this there was no turning back. It started snowing as she waited and the mare shifted under her bored with standing still.

“I’ll be honest, Da’len, I didn’t think you would actually do this,” Solas said suddenly appearing in the darkness.

If he had a mount she hadn’t heard it. He was on foot looking the same as he did when she last saw him. Her mind crashed with thoughts centered on what she was about to do. What would everyone think? What would they do? Would they kill her for treason? Lock her in prison? Exile her? “You don’t have to do this,” she said in reply and she saw the mage smile.

“Yes I do,” he said simply. He’d come too far and done too much to stop this now; he gave up the love of his life. “Do you have it?”

Bree dismounted and the choices ran through her mind again. She reached into the saddle back and removed the troublesome item wrapped in a cloth. The palpable power of the thing was nearly overwhelming. It was so strong that even he didn’t want to touch it when she approached with it. “Cole said this thing wiped out an entire city.”

Solas would be lying if he said the thing didn’t scare him a little. He had no opinion of it until now, he wasn’t even holding it and it was already making him uneasy. His attention was also on Bree, she wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t naïve. “It is the most powerful foci in existence.”

“You better be damn sure before you use this.” She added and Solas had every intention of studying the hell out of this thing before doing anything to activate it. She passed it to him and felt the world shift as it transferred to his hands.

He hand a long way to go before he even thought about activating it…he had to figure out how first. Cole was right; it destroyed a civilization in a cataclysmic fashion. He wanted to sunder the veil not blow up the world. He held the wrapped up Relic in his left hand and gently touched the left side of her face with his right. The mark stung, glowed, then vanished. Its removal hurt and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened her eyes Solas was gone.

**

Before she’d returned to Skyhold word had gotten out. The Relic was gone, she was gone, and the guards had reported it all. What’s done was done. Bree had a bet in her mind going on how it was going to play out, if she was to be exiled or thrown in the dungeon. She dismounted the black mare, unsaddled her and before she got out of the stables she heard guards.

She saw Thom and three of his guards. By the look on his face, he knew it all and she was in deep, deep trouble. “You’ve gone and done it this time, Little One,” he said and Bree sighed. “Take her. Prison. Put her in a cell.”

Dorian stormed through Skyhold barely dressed, into the dungeon, down the hall and right into Thom’s face. He wasn’t mad, he was furious. By now all of Skyhold heard that the Relic was gone and Bree was behind it all, he was angry about that but she was now in a cell and that infuriated him.

“Get my daughter out of that cell!” he ordered the warrior as they squared off.

“No.” Thom replied simply. He was drawing the line, Bree had been shown that she could do whatever she liked and get away with it. Attacking the guards, stealing the Relic, and absconding with it…it had to carry a consequence.

“I’m not asking!” he roared. The protective father in him came out in full force and for the first time in a very long time he threatened a member of the Inquisition and meant it. Flame appeared in his left hand but Thom didn’t flinch.

Bree watched the exchange from her cell. “Dad, its fine, I’ll stay.”

His rage grew, he was so angry with her. “You be quiet!” her father roared turning his fury to her. “I’ve had enough of you!” Bree fell silent as her father was beyond angry. Dorian redirected his fury be to Thom. “Let her out! Now!”

“I will not.” The Captain replied. “She committed treason.”

Dorian growled, annoyed. “She did not.”

“She did and you know it. She’s not coming out of that cell. That’s the end of it.”

“I will not tell you again. You let my daughter out or I will earn the Warden-Queen’s favor and kill you.” Said the magister.

“What’s going on here?” Khrys interrupted with Fenris at her side.

“I was about to kill Thom if he doesn’t release our daughter.” Dorian replied and Khrys’ eyes flicked from one person to the other. She heard about it all. Bree had gotten into the Vault, assaulted the guards, and taken the Relic. According to Cole, she gave it to Solas.

Dorian was furious; she could see that, she could feel the magic coming from him. Thom wasn’t going to back down either; he had his issues with how betrayal had been handled. Ross was still in a cell after all and it still angered him. Bree, however, looked calm. Guilty but calm. “Let her out, Thom.”

“What!?” Thom said suprised.

Thom Rainier was one of the most loyal men she had. Ever since she met him he spoke his mind and didn’t mind going head to head with her. Lately, he was sore of the same issue with one of his men still in a cell and it was quite frankly irritating. “Thom, damnit! Just let her out!” Khrys snapped.

Thom refused. “Inquisitor, no, I cannot allow this to continue.”

“Thom, either let her out of your own accord or you go into a cell and I’ll find someone to let her out for me,” she snapped and the Captain growled his sheer frustration. He did as asked but growled about it the whole time.

Dorian snatched Bree’s arm and lead her off swiftly followed by Khrys and Fenris.

Bree now understood the full meaning of the Inquisition. She sat at the table while everyone relevant stood around her. Her parents, Michel, Balian, Thom, and Cullen and they all looked angry…except maybe Balian. Balian was like the nice Uncle who never got riled.

“You assaulted two Templars, Bree.” Cullen said calmly and leaned down on the table. “Lysette already wants your head,” he preemptively held his hand up to silence Dorian. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“No,” she answered and Cullen shot the other end of the table a collective glare to silence them. He was running this, not them.

“That is not the way you want to go with this,” Cullen replied with his calm but commanding tone. “You better explain to me, right here right now, why you assault two Templars in their dreams and betrayed the Inquisition. You have _one_ chance.”

Bree took a moment and looked around the room with a difficult gulp. It was hard to look at Thom, the contempt he had was written all over his face. Michel was still, he loved her like a daughter and she knew under his calm demeanor he was not happy with her. Her mother was calm like she usually was, always the peacekeeper but the first one to disciple her when she screwed up. Balian leaned on the wall practically invisible like any good bodyguard. Her father…he was the most visibly angry. Worse than how he was with Jean.

“I had to do it,” she said and Cullen stood up straight.

“Why?” he asked and she didn’t answer right away. “Answer me.”

“It was part of the deal for him helping me with Malcolm,” she said. “He held up his end of the deal…I would have had to do it anyway, the mark from him was to force me to bring it to him anyway.”

“So you did an end run and gave it to him anyway?” Khrys hissed.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered and Khrys’ temper flared.

“I know him better than you do, young lady,” she snapped. “You gave him the means to destroy us.”

There was no way she could defend herself from this. There was no way to skew it, no way to explain it. “He doesn’t know how to work it yet!”

“That is not a good defense!” her mother countered.

“Every dream I have has him in it! If I didn’t give it to him now I would have had to later!” she shouted back and Cullen stepped in.

“Alright, alright, stop,” Cullen intervened. Bree hadn’t asked about the two Templars which irritated him but she probably knew that they were okay. Still didn’t make anyone feel any better. “Bree, I’ve known you since you were born…I’ve never considered you a threat. You attacked two Templars, took a weapon of untold destruction and gave it to the enemy of Thedas,” Cullen said as Bree listened. Hearing it like that gave her a perspective that she already knew about but it sank in now. “There’s nothing you can say or do to fix this.”

Bree nodded, she couldn’t explain it or justify it.

“Which is why I put her in a cell,” Thom added. “Which is where she should go back.”

Dorian glared. “We’ll talk about you throwing my daughter in a cell.”

“No. We won’t,” he replied coldly. “I did what I’m supposed to do. Any other person would still be in that cell.” Thom added as Cullen and Bree saw it descend into another argument.

“I want to leave Skyhold,” Bree announced over them and they fell silent. “You can’t trust me here.”

“That we can agree on,” Thom muttered.

Dorian growled his aggravation. “You want to be here, Thom, shut up,” Dorian warned.

“Knock it off,” Khrys snapped at them.

“I want to go to Orlais,” Bree added and the squabbling people stopped squabbling and looked at her. “I have an open invitation from the Emperor.”

“You what!?” Dorian yelled.

“Cullen,” Khrys gestured and the Commander nodded leaving the room with Thom. “What do you mean you have an invitation from Gaspard?”

“He wrote me a letter. Says I’m welcome to come and stay for a while,” she answered.

“You mean stay with the Prince?” Khrys hissed and Dorian sighed.

“No,” she replied. “Gaspard just offered some time away from Skyhold.”

“Before or after you plotted his whole thing?” Michel asked and Bree swallowed again.

“You are not going to Orlais,” Khrys decided adamantly. “You are going to stay right here and come up with a way to fix the fucking mess you made.”

“I think she should go,” Dorian said and Khrys glare at him with a shocked and angry look.

“Are you kidding?”

“I’m not going to let her sit in a cell, she can’t undo what she’s done and Val Royeaux will be as safe as anywhere else we can muster.” The mage replied and Khrys scoffed loudly.

“Until someone assassinates Gaspard,” Khrys snapped and then let out a sigh coming to the realization that Dorian was actually right. If she stayed here after this it would be tough and people wouldn’t trust her or them. “Fine…you can go to Orlais.”

Michel agreed with getting her out of Skyhold. He was angry with her like everyone else but wanted to protect her. “I’ll go with her,” Michel added and Khrys looked at her lover. “Make sure she gets there safe.”

Bree sat through the awkwardness of it all. Seeing her father the cool head about Orlais and her mother being the one that came unglued was different. She did what she had to do but explaining it was impossible. She hoped Orlais would put an end to the worst months of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first 10 pages of this (in word) sucked to write. Not gonna lie it was rough. 
> 
> I listened to several songs for the first part of this, 
> 
> How to Save a Life is the first one that actually came from the best Anders video on youtube.  
> Arsonist Lullaby by Hozier (courtesy of my Beta)  
> and Nothing Else Matters by Apocalypica


	23. Orlais

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a filler chapter that's leading up to some heavy stuff. Lots of character development and new characters. 
> 
> JRogers, thanks for the review. Trust me...Orlais is no picnic for Bree.

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

Chapter Twenty Three: Orlais

 

Bree's escort was Michel and two Templars, most of the Templars were angry with her after what she had done but Galen and Leanna did their duty as instructed. They were both from the Anderfels and recommended by Cullen. Michel was quiet, more so then normal.

"Is everything alright, Michel?" she asked and he huffed pulling his grey stallion up.

"No, it's not," he snapped back, "we're out here because of you. Anders is dead and Malcolm will never be the same because of you."

Harsh, even for Michel's patented tough love. "Michel, I-…"

Michel cut her off. "I love you, Bree, like my own but you have to learn that what _you_ do has consequences. And Malcolm gets to pay for them this time."

"I didn't mean for that to happen."

"And the Relic? Did you not mean for that to happen as well?" he snapped tapping Ardoise's side to move forward.

Bree still didn't have a good explanation for that. Not one that anyone would understand. It was hard to put feelings into words especially when it was this confusing. The Relic was dangerous, Solas was dangerous, but he'd also helped her and Malcolm. She couldn't explain why she'd given it to him. "That's…complicated."

Michel scoffed loudly and shook his head. "It's always complicated," he spat. "Any situation can be complicated if you try hard enough but you don't give the weapon of mass destruction to the man who wants to use it to destroy the world. Thom was right to want to keep you in that cell."

"Well, if you feel that way then why are you here?"

"Because you may not be my blood but you are my daughter so you're my responsibility," he answered curtly and Bree glowered, she wanted to snap back at him but she bit her tongue.

**

Michel hadn't seen the Royal Palace in almost 20 years. The last time he was there he was still the bodyguard and Champion for Celene. By all rights he should be dead, Gaspard started a civil war and chased Celene, Briala, Falassan, and himself across Orlais. Things didn't go the precise way that Gaspard planned but the person who was absolutely ruined had been Michel. Briala called in her favor at the worst time and left Michel with nothing. He was stripped of rank and honor and all but expelled from the court. Gaspard knew his true parentage but because Michel showed him how honorable he was Gaspard had kept it to himself. Michel was the only man to ever beat him in single combat and Gaspard recognized that despite him being Elf-blooded. He went back to the Academie but it felt strange, like he was still in a masquerade about who he was. He didn't like being back in the palace. He still felt the failure and betrayal. He'd let Celene down and hadn't there when she was murdered.

The polished marble, murals, and gold brought back the familiarity…nothing had changed with Gaspard's rule. He'd spent so much time here it was hard to shake Celene's ghost. "Michel, are you alright?" Bree asked seeing how hesitant he was.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

"How long since you've been back?" she asked. Bree knew the story, knew his past, that he was Elf-blooded and a disgraced Chevalier. When she was little she struggled a little with other kids teasing her about her Elf mother. Michel was so kind to her. He'd taken her aside and told her that he was the same as she was. It was a bond they shared.

"20 years," he replied. "Here. Halamshiral several times..." He was still the 'disgraced chevalier' is some eyes.

Bree felt wholly out of place, she was dirty from the road and in her riding leathers. Everything in the Palace was so clean and pristine she didn't know what to do except keep her hands to herself. They were met by Gaspard – Jean looked just like him – and a blonde girl in a green gown and what Bree had come to recognize as the de Chalons family mask. That must have been Charlotte, Jean's little sister. With them was also an obvious knight in a Chevalier mask and armor that was Gaspard's heraldry on a field of purple. Michel identified him immediately as the Emperor's bodyguard and Champion.

"Ser Michel," Gaspard greeted and Michel bowed and his eyes moved to Bree. "Lady Bree, welcome to Val Royeaux."

She blushed as the Emperor bowed to her and she returned it with a smile. "Thank you, Your Grace." Michel cringed briefly to the incorrect form of address. He was the Emperor not a Duke, it should have been your majesty.

Gaspard simply smiled and continued. "May I present my daughter, the Princess Charlotte and my personal guard, Ser Cedric de Rouen. We have chambers set aside for you and a feast planned later this evening."

Michel still remembered how to do a courtly bow and offered one to the Princess, she blushed and smiled. Bree's bow was terrible and Gaspard chuckled. Charlotte sneered.

**

Gaspard's smoking room used to be one of Celene's studies. Michel remembered it but liked the rustic study the Gaspard had designed over the clean and bright regal marble that dominated Celene's rooms. This smoking room also led to Gaspard's private study, he got the feeling that not many people were invited back here. Most private smoking rooms and studies were only offered to those who were more than just an acquaintance.

"Smoke?" Gaspard offered and Michel shook his head. He'd never liked the smoke but accepted the Brandy that was offered. "How does it feel to be back?"

Michel sipped the high quality Brandy and sat down where Gaspard offered. "Lot of ghosts," he replied quietly.

Gaspard had always liked Michel, he was quiet, honorable, and one of the best swordsmen he'd ever seen. "In 20 years you haven't ventured further than Halamshiral, haven't even come back to the Academie…and now you're here with Gabriella."

"Bree," Michel corrected but understood what Gaspard was driving at. "She's…she's had a rough go of it lately. Being taken by Solas, and then rescued…she went out without permission and got into even more trouble with her friend Malcolm."

"Anders' son?"

Michel nodded and continued through the interruption. "Yeah. Anders is dead now, died trying to clean up with mess. But the worst part is that Bree went behind everyone and gave Solas the Relic found in the Deep Roads. The one that Solas attacked Vigil's Keep to find."

Gaspard exhaled a cloud of smoke and cocked his head. That was a lot to take in at once. "Why would she do that?"

Michel took another drink and shrugged. "Not sure. She doesn't have a good explanation for it."

"So why is she here?"

"You sent her an open invitation to Val Royeaux."

Gaspard cleared his throat. "To get to know the girl my son loves not to harbor a rebel."

Michel gave him strange look. At least Gaspard understood the situation. "We had to get her out of Skyhold otherwise some would take offense to the idea that she wasn't imprisoned," he explained. "Her mother agreed to let her come here so long as I came with her."

Gaspard took a drink then a smoke. He was thinking, thinking about the impact of her behavior and what it would have on her relationship with Jean. Some would consider her a traitor. She was already a hard sell for being an Elf-blooded mage. "So you bring her here to keep her out of Skyhold and prevent a division in the Inquisition?"

"Partly.

"Is she still bound to him?"

Michel took another drink. "According to her, no, he removed the mark once he had what he wanted."

"Do you believe her?"

"On that, yes," he answered and put the glass down. "There's something more to it I just don't know what it is."

"How so?"

"Something about it just doesn't add up…too thin. Plausible explanation but still…strange," he clarified and Gaspard was quiet.

**

Bree's room at the Palace was bigger than even her mother's chambers in Skyhold. Everything in Val Royeaux seemed over-done and grand and Bree marveled at the sheer size of the palace, even in the Royal Family Wing it was huge. She dropped her bag and went to explore, her Templars an ever present shadow. She liked them both, they were kind to her but they had a mission: to prevent her from doing something stupid again.

The palace seemed busy, busier than she had expected but it seemed that there was more happening then just the dinner taking place this evening. Bree found Charlotte issuing orders like a prim and proper lady. Charlotte was blonde, 5'4", with brown eyes, and a petite figure, her hair was long and cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, the mask she wore was sleek and flattering, Bree couldn't figure out how anyone could wear those every day. Michel has always told her he hated them but it became a habit.

"Highness," Bree greeted with a bow as her Templars held position a good distance away.

Charlotte was a year younger than she and gave her a side eye glance before giving an order in Orlesian to a servant. "You should really master the curtsy."

"My mother never did," she shrugged. "Is it always this busy?"

Charlotte wasn't sure what to make of Bree. She'd heard her brother talk endlessly about her but she was just some backwater noble. Barely even a noble really; her title was scion of House Pavus, the heir to a very well-known and upper class noble house in Tevinter. "Most days yes, but this is for the party in a few days."

"What's the party for?" Bree asked knowing full well that Orlesians didn't need much of a reason to throw a party.

"The graduating class of Chevaliers," Charlotte answered. "Father and my brother have a soft spot for them and it gives me an excuse to throw a party."

"When is it?"

"After the Fall Contest."

"Fall Contest?"

"Every fall the Academie holds a contest for students past and present. According to my brother it's like a final exam," she explained but was beginning to sound annoyed. "I'm sure my father will extend an invitation for you and Ser Michel."

"Well, that would be fine but I've nothing to wear to a party," Bree said, all she really had was riding leathers and her armor. That was all she'd really brought, even at Skyhold she didn't have lot of dresses.

Charlotte paused and actually gave her a smile. "Well, that…I can help with."

It turned out the Jean wasn't actually at the Palace and wouldn't be there until the next day, according to Gaspard he was at the Academie training with the rest. He spent most of his time in Halamshiral or Verchiel, really the only time he was in Val Royeaux was for something like the contest or if he'd been summoned. Bree was disappointed that Jean wasn't there but after the feast all she wanted to do was sleep.

**

The full armor contest was a week that the Chevaliers, no matter who they were, absolutely loved. Students, instructors, and past graduates could all participate but it was mostly to test the young ones.

Jean sat on Mau lined up with Etienne and a red haired Chevalier named Julien. They were all in full armor – horses and knights – because that's how Chevalier's trained. It really sucked in summer but in the fall being stuck in layers of padding, chain mail, and, some variant of metal for hours felt much better.

The Gauntlet, the obstacle course, tested horsemanship, precision, and accuracy. It was run individually, timed, and the person who came in under time and hit the most targets, won. The object was to do it all.

Jean watched Navarro run the course in full armor with his fine mare Rose. Navarro was the odd man out, as it were, among the chevaliers; half Rivaini…and a bastard. When Jean and Etienne came to train with the Chevaliers they met Julien and Navarro. Navarro was the toughest of them all given his parentage and Julien was an Orlesian noble and acted like one.

"Damn, that's a good horse," Etienne commented as they watched Navarro and Rose go. The chestnut mare was by far the finest warhorse at the Academie and the envy of everyone that wasn't Navarro.

Jean had to agree, the Anderfel Coursers were rare and magnificent. "Let's just hope he stays on this time…remember the last time he did this?" Jean added and the group chuckled.

Etienne chuckled. "He and Rose took that tumble…he's lucky he had armor on."

Navarro finished the course and came back to them with a puffing mare. "I think they made that course harder," he grumbled and removed his helm.

A blonde chevalier with greying hair and a full beard marked off a tablet. "Navarro, finished the course ten out of twelve and under time." Ducet was his father's military advisor, General, and instructor with the Academie. He was a decorated knight and the General present when Jean won his first battle. "No bonus for keeping your horse upright this time."

The three laughed as Navarro dropped his head at the ribbing of his brothers.

Jean caught movement from the right and saw his father, Michel, and Bree. He knew she was coming but wasn't sure when she would arrive. Seeing Bree made him smile and he tuned out Ducet's words, he didn't know how long he's tuned him out but he was watching Bree from a distance.

"Jean-Fredric!" Ducet's voice cut in and he snapped to attention.

"Sir!" Jean replied in his conditioned response to his father's greatest General.

Ducet wasn't stupid, he knew that Bree was there. "You want to show off your for lady, do it out there. You're next," the General said and the mention of a lady drew the attention of his friends. They all looked, peered, and stood up in the stirrups.

Jean blushed and slapped his visor closed. As he moved off the others got a look at Bree.

"Wow," Navarro commented. He was seeing her from a distance and she was gorgeous. "I can see why he wanted to stay in Skyhold."

Julien was somewhat less impressed. "Please, she's Elf-blooded and a Mage," he scoffed.

Navarro shook his head. "You don't see beauty in anything do you?"

**

Bree watched the proceedings, according to Gaspard and Michel they were training for the fall contest. There were clusters of Knights but she spied Jean on his roan and guessed Etienne was next to him on the flashy murky bay. If there was anyone else she knew down there she couldn't tell with them being in full armor.

The knight who'd just finished the course pulled his helm off revealing a mop of curly black hair and olive colored skin. It wasn't the knight she was admiring, it was his horse. The big chestnut was without a doubt an Anderfel Courser. Rare horses in the south.

Bree watched Jean kick Mau into a canter and run the course. She'd kill to run it and grinned watching him. "Oh that looks like fun," Bree grinned.

"It is fun," Michel agreed smiling and Gaspard clapped his shoulder.

"You're welcome to give it a go, Ser Michel."

Michel thought about it. He hadn't done the gauntlet in years. His time at the Academie was the happiest of his life…until the Inquisition took him. He missed it.

"What do you say Cedric?" Gaspard asked his body guard.

The quiet guard hadn't spoken much in her presence but she'd be lying if she didn't like his deep voice. "Oh I'll be competing," he replied and smiled.

"Wish I could compete," Bree muttered and the three chuckled. The Academie would implode. Orlais was not the most progressive nation.

It wasn't his best time ever but he completed the course with all targets hit and slightly over the time. He and Mau had a miscommunication which slowed them down. Mau was never a speedy horse so he wasn't expecting to set the course record. Etienne would do that.

Jean slowed Mau to a stop by his father and dismounted, removing his helm and bowing to Bree. It was a surprising move as he was the higher rank and he bowed to her. "Ma bichette," he greeted with a smile. He wanted to kiss her but maintained his decorum. "Welcome to Val Royeaux."

This was the first time she'd seen him without a mask. Jean was extremely handsome and Bree felt her heart flutter. "Thank you," she blushed and stepped up kissing his cheek. "So that's what you look like under that mask." Michel cleared his throat and she stepped back. Jean blushed and his brothers in arms laughed and whistled.

"Ser Michel," Jean acknowledged. "Father."

Gaspard liked to see his son happy but was still not clear on what he was going to do about Bree and her unusual behavior lately. "You hit all the targets but you made several errors," he critiqued and Jean snorted.

It was just like his father to critique him so he wasn't too upset about it. "They make that course harder every year," he said as Etienne headed off for his turn. On the Gauntlet it usually came down to Etienne and Julien as Muir and Jacques were the fastest horses of their group.

**

Jean occupied several rooms in the Palace although he did spend more time at Halamshiral then he did here. All things being equal, he'd rather be in Verchiel, at home where he grew up. Bree poked around, it was decorated like the rest of the palace, not much personal flare.

He took his mask off and rubbed his face like his face itched and observed her. Something was wrong and he'd heard lots of rumors. "You okay?" he asked and she turned to him.

She sighed heavily. "What have you heard?"

Jean approached her with that look, the coy look of amusement and sincerity. "I don't care what I've heard. What's going on?"

"I have been the world's greatest idiot lately," she admitted and couldn't help but feel better. It felt better to not justify the impossible, the admit that she'd fucked up, and however directly or indirectly, was responsible for Anders' death and subjecting Malcolm to something that would change him forever.

"I don't believe that," Jean assured and brushed her cheek with his right hand.

She chortled. "You don't understand…I made a huge mistake and chased it with another-…"

"Bree," he began and tried to pull her into a comforting embrace but she pushed away, "everyone makes mistakes."

"That's easy for you to say, you're a Prince."

Jean laughed, cackled really. "You think I haven't made a mistake? I'm a Prince, Bree, not the Maker."

"Did you get your best friend's father killed? Or give someone a weapon of mass destruction?" she snarked back and Jean sighed. He had his own demons and skeletons but he didn't want to play the 'who fucked up worse' game with her. He was smart enough to realize it wasn't going to help.

"Bree…" he sighed nearly begging for her to relax, "please, come on."

She ignored him and folded her arms across her chest. "You know…Malcolm is the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, he's taken the heat for me with trouble we used to get in, he didn't care if we both got in trouble, we even got halfway to Redcliffe once before realizing how far we'd ridden." Jean listened, he admitted he didn't know Malcolm that well but the brief time he'd seen them together he could see the bond. "I went to Anders for help, then against all reason I went to Solas. Anders sacrificed himself to save his son," she said.

He moved closer to her and tried not to patronize. It was hard when you wanted to help but knew the other party did make a huge mistake. "You can't control everything, Bree. It was an accident…not your fault."

The same old platitude…it irritated her. "Malcolm blames me. Lily blames me...and so does Michel."

"I'll have him flogged."

Bree laughed. "Oh please let me be there to see you try that," she said and Jean was happy to get a chuckle out of her. "Did you know Thom threw me into the dungeon after I gave Solas the Relic?" she went on. "He threw me into the dungeon and I actually didn't mind being there. Then my father stormed in and nearly lit the place on fire."

Jean smiled, he couldn't help it. "Well, that sounds like him."

"I've known Thom since before I can remember…I've never seen him so pissed off at me. I don't know why I did it. I really don't. The more I try and justify it the more I talk myself out of it…I should have just dealt with him in my dreams for the rest of my life." It hurt to have earned so much ire from people she'd known for so long.

Jean sighed and took her by the hand guiding her to the couch. "Bree," he began and sat down on the couch. "I want you to forget about all of this. That doesn't make it go away but if you keep going over it and over it all it will do is make things worse." She leaned back into him and let him wrap his arms around her. She felt like she was back in Free Marches with him after the rescue from Solas. "You're in Orlais now, ma bichette, never you worry. I don't care what you've done, you're here with me and that's all that matters."

She had to admit that she felt better than she had in weeks. And guilty. She'd caused such a stir in Skyhold and then ran off to Orlais although she did as Jean asked and let it go…for now. "Tu es ma joie de vivre," she heard him said softly as he combed his left fingers through her hair.

Bree turned over in his arms. "Je t'amie," she replied making him chuckle. Her Orlesian accent was awful but he understood and she kissed him.

There they lay, on his couch in the Palace occasionally kissing but mostly spending time together. She told him all about what had happened, he didn't judge, toss blame, or curse…he simply listened and offered his own input. "Every mess can be cleaned up," he said. "Blights. Wars. Plots. It's all fixable…and I will do everything in my power to fix it all for you."

She wanted to fall asleep there, snuggled on the couch with her head on his chest but he saw to it that she didn't and escorted her back to her chambers when the bell rang for midnight. Michel was still awake and stood when she appeared with Jean.

"Where've you been?" he asked in a sharp tone that rang of a demand.

"With Jean," she answered quickly.

Michel turned red and had the fatherly urge to punch the Prince but resisted it. Jean held up his hand in a placating manner. "I was a perfect gentleman, on my honor." Michel didn't have anything to add that he felt comfortable saying and let the anger subside.

Bree removed herself from the tension building between the two Chevaliers. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she announced and kissed Jean's cheek with a smile then Michel's which in turn made him smile. He was upset and disappointed with her but he loved her all the same.

"Good night, Highness," he said with a bow and turned to leave.

"Ser Michel," Jean began causing Michel to stop and turn back toward him, "she's been through enough. You being angry at her isn't going to help. Bear that in mind." He walked away before the Chevalier could respond, a disrespectful sign to someone of a lower class. Jean didn't care about his response, he said his peace and left it at that.

Michel wasn't sure if the Prince was right or it was the conditioned response that was triggered by being back in the Palace but he bit his tongue keeping his rebuttal to himself. Not that Prince seemed to care what it was.

**

Jean was looking forward to the contest at the Academie, more than he usually did. There wasn't a student there that didn't like showing off or trying to beat an alumnus. No one student ever won each event but a few came close. He nodded to Cedric as he passed him on his way to his father's study. "Cedric."

"Highness," Cedric acknowledged.

"You wanted to see me, father?" Jean asked as he found his father scribbling out a message at his desk. When Jean spoke he put the quill down and gave his son his full attention.  
"You seem happy."

"I am," he replied with a smile. "The contest is tomorrow. Bree is here…it's all perfect."

Gaspard winched. "She's had a rough time lately."

Jean nodded with a bit of a shrug. "I know. I spoke to her about it."

He sighed heavily and then stood. He really didn't want to do this but the potential consequences were too great for the Empire. "I cannot let you marry her," Gaspard said in a quick and blunt fashion. There was no part of this that was going to end well. Jean was so happy and was now about to be very angry.

The smile vanished from his son's face and the look he didn't want to see was found. "Excuse me?"

Gaspard sighed again. "She betrayed the Inquisition."

Jean couldn't argue with that fact. She did give Solas a weapon. "I don't care," he decided and Gaspard scoffed.

"Clearly," his father commented. "She's a mage and Elf-blooded…already difficult for the people to accept."

"The people? Or the Council?"

"Bah, I care not about those strutting peacocks?"

"You then?"

Gaspard was affronted by the inference. "Be careful, Jean-Fredric," he warned using his son's full name. "She doesn't think before she acts. Giving Solas that Relic is something that could cost Orlais everything."

Jean laughed. A single 'ha' that was neither amusing nor respectful. "How is that any different then what you've done?"

Gaspard's gave his son a hostile glare. "I beg your pardon?" he growled.

"Your first wife killed Celene's parents, you started the War of Two Lions, your sister murdered Celene …and you're worried about the woman that I've chosen to marry," Jean challenged and Gaspard straightened. His son was not wrong.

"Enough," he ordered but Jean ignored it.

"The only reason you are even on the throne is because of her mother!" he shouted angrily. "Your kingdom would crumble without the Inquisition and you know it!"

"You hold your tongue, Boy!" Gaspard shouted over top of him and Jean took a half set closer to his father.

"No! I won't!" he barked back. "You brought her into my life! You can't take her away from me now!"

His son was right. Jean didn't really like any of the other ladies he was presented with. He didn't really want to go to Skyhold either but when he met Bree his attitude changed. Gaspard wasn't proud of pulling the rug from under him. "Jean-Fredric,"

Jean was now on a tirade. "I have done everything you've asked of me. I've trained, I learned, fought, led, and played the diplomat. My first military victory didn't come over Tevinter or Nevarra but over my own people! I slaughtered my countrymen for YOU," he yelled and Gaspard had had enough.

"Jean-Fredric, enough from you now!" he shouted back and his son finally fell silent. He saw Cedric peering in to check. Jean glared and Gaspard waved him away. The Chevalier nodded and left.

"He afraid I'll kill you?" Jean hissed.

"Be quiet, Jean-Fredric," his father snapped back. "You fail to see bigger picture. She is a mage, she is Elf-blooded, her father is a magister, and her mother is Dalish. Difficult but possible. Once word gets out that the woman you have chosen as your bride betrayed us all, they will rebel. The Council will be up in arms and the rest will follow."

Jean was pacing. The fuming anger that he was famous for was very prevalent. "I will replace every last member," he growled with an evil cackle.

Gaspard rolled his eyes. His son was by far the most stubborn person he'd ever met… of course the same could be said for him. Sabine accused him of being the same on more than one occasion. "Will you stop being a fool, young man? You have no idea what you are talking about," he scolded. "You cannot marry her. I will not allow it."

Jean ignored it. "I will marry her if she'll have me and you cannot stop me."

"Jean-…"

"I don't need your permission," he interrupted. "I am willing to fight her father I will fight you as well."

Gaspard never expected this to go smoothly but seeing Jean so angry and adamant about this was not what he had expected to be honest. "Jean," he warned, his son was dangerously close to crossing a line.

Jean shook his head. "We are done," he decided. "After the contest I will return to Halamshiral…with Bree." He turned and walked away and Gaspard felt a flare of his temper.

"Jean," he snarled, "do not walk away from me, boy." Jean ignored it and kept walking. If he wanted to stop him he was welcome to try. Gaspard was left alone in the study trying to pinpoint where that went to hell.

**

Jean hadn't spoken to his father since their fight. In fact, he hadn't spoken to anyone but Etienne who asked him if he was feeling well. He replied with a curt grunt and his friend left him alone. Unlike the Starkhaven tournament this was much lower key. It wasn't for the nobility or commoners to come and watch. It was training. Not show. Of course the students and alumni made it fun. Family members and honored guests were invited but that was all.

Horses and knights were in full barding…it was quite the sight as they were all prepared for the jousting, the melee, and the race course. Jousting was first. Etienne and Jean loved the jousting.

Jean cantered Mau up the railing to the audience and stopped at Bree sitting near his father. He didn't look at his father and flipped the visor on his helm up. "My Lady," he said bowing to her from horseback.

"Jean-Fredric!" a voice boomed from further down. "It's not a Tourney! Get your ass back in the lists!" Ducet shouted. "You want to honor your lady, do it out there!"

Bree blushed and Jean sighed heavily with a smile. He could hear others in the lists chuckling. "Love you," He winked and moved away.

"Have you asked her yet?" Etienne asked as Jean trotted into place next to him.

"Not yet," He replied and Etienne grinned taking his meaning that he was _going_ to. He grinned but the idea that she was an Elf-blooded mage with ties to Tevinter did make him worry.

The graduating class was allowed to compete and select others from the student body. The contest was difficult and made even more difficult with past graduates who kept in practice. De Rouen competed every year, great at all three events, the big surprise here was Michel, however. After so long the aging Chevalier decided to actually compete. Jean, Etienne, Navarro, and Julien were barrack mates and had been since they all landed at the Academie. They were a good team despite their differences. Of them, Navarro and Jean were the best jousters.

As they started through the order Jean found himself facing Cedric de Rouen, his father's bodyguard. Cedric wore unique armor…it was black and resembled the scales of a dragon, the helm had swept back wings like a dragon and his Amaranthine Charger, Rook, had matching black armor also resembling dragon scales. Cedric de Rouen of Val Firmin, also known as The Black Knight, looked like a demon. Jean hated jousting against him. Cedric may have been very low nobility but he was damn good at war and combat.

His appearance had the desired effect on all his opponents, even Jean, and he'd known him for years. This black armor wasn't his usual attire, this was for war and occasional contest. Desired effect or not Jean could beat him and had beaten him in the past. Today was no different. Cedric hit him once but Jean nearly unhorsed him when the lance glanced up his chest and clobbered him in the neck.

Navarro was always fun to watch, the Duke of Sahrina received no respect from a lot of the Chevaliers because of his blood but he proved that he was every bit as good as, or better, than the rest. Before his tilt he rode up to the railing handing Charlotte a rose. He'd had a crush on the Princess for a while now and he gently tried to show it once in a while. "For you, My Lady." He bowed to the Princess and heard Ducet roll his eyes.

Charlotte blushed, stood, and took the rose from him. "You're too kind, Lord Navarro, thank you."

Ducet didn't yell at him like he did with Jean since the Princess was involved. He didn't mind yelling at Jean, he'd been doing it since he was 10 and Jean always did something to earn it. Navarro generally didn't. He may not have yelled at Navarro but his pointed glare from the back of his horse was enough to tell the love struck Duke to get back in the lists and get this show on the road.

His first opponent was Etienne, who he handedly defeated but not because Etienne was a poor jouster…Navarro was just that good. The rest of the joust went by quickly, this wasn't a Tourney, it wasn't for show. It was like an exam but without the grades. You won or you lost. You were critiqued, praised, and you learned.

The final two were Navarro and Jean, the two best jousters the Academie had produced in years. Jean had jousted against Navarro before, several times. Most of the time he lost to him but this time was different. This time Jean was crowned the winner of the joust but he and Navarro laughed about it the whole time. Bree liked watching him here. Jean wasn't treated like a Prince among them…he was an equal. Sure they respected him, but he was a brother here and they treated him like one.

The next event was the melee, group and single combat. Jean and the group were a well-oiled machine when they fought together. Julien Mantillon was announced as the finest swordsman the Academie had ever produced. Ever. He was graceful and elegant as a swordsman. To Bree he looked like a dancer, even in heavy armor he was light on his feet. He reminded her of Balian. Michel watched intently with Gaspard.

"He is amazing," Michel said to Gaspard while observing his nearly flawless technique, the Emperor smiled and nodded.

"That he is. That's Lady Mantillon's son." He informed and Michel looked over at him. He remembered her; she was a master manipulator, evil, and a major player of the Great Game. Gaspard had his issues with her…she was dead now which made him smile. Julien was her heir and had the same attitude that she'd had. "Julien may be a hard man to get along with but I've never seen a swordsman like him."

Surprisingly, Julien's challenger didn't come from his barrack mates or an alumnus but from a graduating student. He was probably just a few years younger than Julien but the young man was very skilled with the sword. Julien won with a move that showed he could defeat anyone in a sword fight.

"I've seen some superb swordsman in my day but none like him…I thought Balian was amazing," Michel commented.

"Bail's better," Bree declared and they gave her a brief glance. Like she was a foolish girl who didn't know what she was talking about. Balian and Julien certainly would be a fight worth watching but when Julien looked at her she felt uneasy. He didn't like her, she could tell.

The last event was the one that Bree wanted to take part in. The racecourse looked like so much fun she wanted to grab a horse and run it herself. As she had been told, Julien and Etienne had the fastest horses of their group, but this was one that Michel actually participated in…as did Cedric. They had to finish under time and, as Bree discovered, hit all the targets if you wanted to win. Missing a target was acceptable so long as no one 'one uped' you. The top time for most of the event came from a young man with an average looking Orlesian Courser and not even a graduating Chevalier. Michel closed his visor and gathered up Ardoise, the slate colored stallion shifted under him and looked strange in Chevalier barding and Michel in his Inquisition armor. Mismatched…it irritated Michel but he didn't bring Ardoise's full Inquisition armor with him.

The Gauntlet was just as he remembered. The targets had been moved, his horse was different but it was still simple enough in principle. Ardoise galloped down the path and he swung the sword first to the right with an underhand swing then crossed over Ardoise's neck and hit the upcoming target on the left. Most missed that target because it was so quick. He pressed his mount faster and hit the target higher up at head-level. The path twisted and turned, narrowed and widened, but he hit every target as they came by.  
Hanging targets, dummies, tall targets, and short targets, his horse jumped obstacles but Michel didn't feel the change. He focused on the path and the targets. Ardoise thundered across the line well under the time and all targets hit. Michel de Chevin, the 'Disgraced Chevalier' now pardoned, who hadn't run the Gauntlet in nearly two decades destroyed the entire field of challengers.

Bree was proud of him and her smiled proved it, Michel was proud of himself and Ardoise…the horse had never seen that course before or run it in practice.

**

The party at the palace was completely overdone but according to Jean, that was Charlotte's baseline. She loved the parties, both throwing them and attending them. Bree and Charlotte didn't really get along but that was mainly a difference in interests…and upbringing. Charlotte was the Princess of Orlais waiting to be married off to a suitor and live the life luxury. Bree's only claim was to the House Pavus and a potential seat in the Magisterium. Charlotte loved being catered to, waited on, and getting her way. Bree could care less about courtly life.

Her borrowed blue and black gown was snug, she had a fuller figure than Charlotte did. She didn't like borrowing the dress from her but as she was not prepared to attend a party right away it was something that had to be done. She also didn't like corsets. The bodice showed off her body to the point Jean flushed when he saw her…as did several others.

Jean's defiance toward his father was proudly displayed as he escorted Bree and was announced with her by the herald. Gaspard said nothing, his son was stubborn and he did like Bree. She was a smart girl that had done some questionable things. They all had, in that his son was correct.

She'd met many of the Chevaliers while at the Academie, watched Jean win the joust, Julien win the melee, and Michel show everyone up on the Gauntlet. Duke Etienne Arles was from Jader and clearly the talk of the court. The ladies fawned over him, and by Bree's observation, had a supreme admirer in Charlotte, however, he didn't seem to share it. He was polite to her but clearly tried to distance himself. Marquis Julien Mantillon was the red haired Chevalier that didn't seem to like her much. He sneered at her and was stiff with protocol when he addressed her. That being said, he was absolutely one of the best swordsman she'd ever seen. He was handsome and had a nice smile but his attitude sucked. The last one was Duke Navarro, the one with the horse she wanted to steal, she didn't know too much about him since he kept to himself.

"Save me," she heard someone suddenly say and Etienne appeared at her side. "Would you care to dance, Lady Bree?" he asked properly.

She accepted with confusion painted on her features. "You okay?" she asked falling into a dance.

Etienne looked partly relieved. "Oh I'm terrific," he muttered but the sarcasm was clear.

It wasn't hard to figure out. He was polite to the attention he received by the court ladies but one affection he didn't want was Charlotte's. "Running from your number one fan?"

He looked down at her and smiled. "You see it then?"

"Hard not to," she chuckled. "You don't like her?"

Charlotte was a beautiful girl, vibrant, proper, and young. Etienne would be a fool to not see it but he was not interested in marriage and especially not marriage to her. "It's not that…I don't want to marry and Jean's like a brother to me."

Bree understood and she and Etienne danced flawlessly to the adoration of the court. She even saw Jean watching his best friend dance with the woman he loved. "Well, you better figure it out she seems the sort to get her way."

Etienne groaned. Charlotte was exactly the sort to get her way, which is why he always ran. "I don't want anything to do with marriage or ruling…Jean and my brothers can keep every bit of that."

The dance ended and Bree caught the side eye from Charlotte, the Princess was not thrilled with seeing her dancing with him. Bree didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and she moved away after Etienne politely thanked her for the dance.

On the terrace outside she found Navarro. "You dance well, My Lady," the knight said. "How do you like the Orlesian Court?"

"It's…interesting," she replied and approached him with a smile. "Skyhold is a different sort of interesting…probably less dangerous." He chuckled and removed his mask setting it on the wall then rubbing his face. "You're different from the others." Bree said and Navarro smiled with a shrug.

"That's because I've been told my entire life that I don't belong. Julien calls me a bastard and a mongrel…I call him a ginger cunt but brother's fight – so I've been told…I have two brothers. Neither one of them held me down and tried to remove my eye with a woodcarving knife."

He gestured to the unsightly scar on his left temple dangerously close to his eye. "Is that what happened?" she asked and Navarro nodded and shrugged. "Julien did that?"

Navarro shook his head, Julien was a jerk but he backed a brother when there was a need. "I fought them…gave them back the knife although not exactly where they wanted it. They all survived. Survived Ducet and Cecil's wrath…all but one survived my father and the Emperor's wrath."

She liked Navarro. "So you're a bastard?"

Navarro gave her a bow. "My father claimed me. I am Duke Navarro de Savrenne of Sahrnia…doesn't change the fact that my mother is from Rivain and a scullery maid," he said giving her a proper introduction.

Bree shrugged. She liked Navarro, liked him a lot. "Well…we are a great match then. My father is a Tevinter magister, my mother is a Dalish Elf, and I am a Mage."

Navarro looked down at her. "You and I are going to break Orlais," he said grinning and she laughed.

"So why do they rib you about the Gauntlet?" she asked as she remembered them all busting his chops about something. It all ended when Michel and Ardoise wowed them all.

Navarro looked at the ground and blushed. "Embarrassing for a Chevalier really…last time we practiced on the Gauntlet it was muddy and slick. Rose and I hit the switchback and she lost her footing in the mud. I think they thought that I was dead when we hit the ground because she rolled over the top of me."

"Ouch."

"Yeah…now I never live it down," he commented. "Will you allow me to escort you back to the Prince, My Lady?"

**

Jean leered, he couldn't help it. Bree was beautiful anyway, but in that dress he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Her breasts created the most delightful cleavage and the corset accented her curves. He purred with approval as he watched the sway of her hips. "You're going to kill me if you keep dressing like that," he praised.

"It's your sisters and it's too tight," she grumbled and Jean completely disagreed.

"Oh, no it's not," he said resisting the urge to haul her off to a room and make her his.

Bree blushed and rolled her eyes. "Your sister certainly likes parties."

Jean lifted his mask and vigorously rubbed his face, the damn thing itched. "Everyone has a hobby. Driving my father insane and throwing parties are hers."

"You look like you have something on your mind," she inquired and Jean did.

"My father has forbidden me to marry you."

Bree's expression fell but she could hardly say she was surprised, she'd been waiting for consequences of her questionable deeds to arrive and now they had. Jean hadn't asked her yet but his intent was clear. "Oh." It was a meek response but it was the only one that came out.

Her tone of masked heartbreak served as a reiteration for him. "I'm leaving for Halamshiral in a few days and I want you to come with me."

"Yes," she answered quickly with a bright smile.

Jean chuckled at how quickly she answered him. "Which one of us gets to tell Michel?" he asked and she giggled.

She could control Michel…or at least talk him into it. "Which one of us gets to tell your father?" she rebutted and Jean chuckled.

"I don't really care what he says," he replied.

Bree had trouble peeling the layers back on him. Jean was the good son, the dutiful heir who normally did as he was told. He loved his father, loved his country, and embraced his future that was practically written for him. Although right now he was intent on rebelling against him…for her. Exactly why he was doing that was confusing, she wasn't worth driving a wedge between him and his father. He went about like he wanted to marry her but still hasn't asked her. He'd hinted on many occasions that he was going to but hadn't as of yet.

When they danced they commanded an audience, Bree was a very skilled dance partner and despite Jean's irritation at the Game he paid attention and now realized how important those lessons had been. Bree lit up when they danced and he loved to see that. Michel watched as they floated across the dance floor to the delight of the court. Bree was a mystery to them and they accepted her to a point for now, she was a mage an Elf-blooded but she was very charming and captivating. The first wrong move she made, however, would turn them against her. Of that he was certain and it made him uneasy, he'd spoken to Gaspard and was in agreement that once people learned of her 'betrayal' their reaction would dangerous.

The ladies of court were devastated to discover that Jean was no longer on the market as a match if the way he looked at Bree was anything to go by. It was apparent that he loved her deeply. Michel and the Court weren't the only ones to see this, Gaspard did as well. The Emperor sighed heavily.

Michel was glad to see her so happy, it took his mind off it all for a moment and found that they were a perfect couple. Maybe being here was good for her…or everyone.

"Lady Bree," Gaspard interrupted as politely as possible, "may I have a moment?"

Bree nodded but Jean eyed his father. He wasn't particularly sure why his father wanted to spirit her away from him.

She was taken to the apartment wing and Jean and Michel gave each other a strange look. Gaspard stopped them outside the study and he held up a finger to stop his son and retreated inside with Bree. Jean's brows furrowed and he looked at Michel.

"Have I done something wrong, Majesty?" she asked and Gaspard shook his head as he got into a locked cabinet.

"Of course not," he replied. "I know things have been difficult for you lately…and I do offer anything that I can do to help however given the magnitude of what you did I forbade my son from pursuing your hand."

"I know," she said and paused allowing a half smile. "He told me."

"Of course he did," he said, he wasn't angry…he actually expected it really. "I've seen the way that he looks at you and you at him…and I know that I started all of this." He was reluctant to give in but he'd rather have his son as a trusted heir and ally then a resentful threat. "I wanted to give you something." He handed her a box.

Bree opened the box and found a jeweled comb, a floral design that reminded her of Lily's adorned with beautiful sapphire and diamonds but not too gaudy. "Oh wow. It's beautiful."

Gaspard smiled. "It belonged to Sabine, Jean's mother," he said and Bree suddenly didn't want to touch it for fear of breaking or damaging it. "I gave that to her on our wedding day."

Bree closed the box and handed it back. "I can't accept this."

Gaspard didn't take it and kept his smile. "Jean loves you, very much so and I know that Sabine would have approved of you. She would have loved you from the moment she met you."

It was almost heartbreaking to hear him talk of her, Gaspard had truly loved her. "How long were you married?" she asked and held the box tightly.

"One year," he answered quietly. "She never even got to see Jean before she died." Gaspard got back on track with a clear of his throat. "Please, allow me." He opened the box, removed the comb and placed it in her hair. "My son is a lucky man."

Bree blushed and it irritated her on some level that Jean hasn't actually asked her yet. He spoke about it and everyone seemed to be under the assumption he would but in reality he hadn't. "No disrespect, Majesty, but he hasn't asked me anything."

Gaspard smiled to her and pulled her into an embrace. "He will, My Dear, he will."

Michel and Jean waited patiently outside but things were tense between them. Jean was curious to see the reaction from Michel when Bree told him the plans. His bet, his hope rather, was that Michel would let her go or tag along. He liked Michel. He really did and he remembered what he was told in Skyhold. He had Michel's blessing.

**

It turned out, getting Michel agree to let her go to Halamshiral wasn't too difficult. He put up a fight but in the end he let it go and went with her. More than likely it was Michel's discomfort in Val Royeaux that made him agreeable.

They left Val Royeaux with a wagon of stuff and what was clearly becoming Jean's household guard or trusted advisors, Etienne, Navarro, and Julien. They also had a contingent of guards, Michel, Bree, and her Templars.

Jean had turned the Winter Palace into his own personal house; he'd already said that once he ascended to the throne this would be his seat of power. Bree remembered the Winter Palace from the times she'd attended balls and parties, she'd never met Jean though as he'd been at the Academie since he was 10. The palace was nestled in a valley and surrounded by beautiful mountains, Bree loved it.

Bree woke the next morning in a big, soft, warm bed. This was what it was like to be royalty. She stretched, dressed, and headed out into the apartment wing of the palace. It was pouring outside and she made her way toward one of the dining hall. She heard the sounds of swords clanging together.

As it was down pouring outside and had been all morning so far, the boys were bored and Jean and Etienne started sparring right there in the hall.

Bree watched Jean practice with Etienne. Jean was different around certain people she had noticed but he was the most at ease around Etienne. They grew up together and had known each other practically their whole lives. She thought of Malcolm in that way and couldn't help but think of the last time she saw him. The aftermath of her most misguided endeavor that cost Anders his life.

She saw Jean disarm Etienne who grumbled but didn't seem angry. "One of these days I'll remember that move," he griped with a chuckle from Jean and they both saw Bree watching them. "Lady Bree," Etienne greeted with a bow.

"Oh please don't do that," she replied blushing at Etienne's manners.

Etienne didn't have a mask on, she noticed they hardly ever wore them here, and admitted that he was one of the handsomest men she'd ever met. Jean and Etienne standing together were enough to make even the strongest woman swoon. Etienne looked from Bree to Jean and bowed out.

"Something I said?" she asked Jean but he was too busy committing how she looked to memory.

"No," Jean replied as if there was nothing wrong at all and tossed her the sparring sword that Etienne had. She caught it deftly and looking at him curiously. "I hear you're pretty good," he winked and she allowed a smile.

"And where'd you hear that?" she asked and with a flirty smirk. "Are you sure, your Highness?"

His grin widened and began an attack. Bree's mastery of the sword showed a very basic technique, basic but very solid, though it was plain that she would benefit greatly from additional training. Bree was very good, better than Jean was expecting but she was definitely overmatched against him.

He trapped her with her back against his chest and he had a firm hand on her sword arm. "Who taught you?" he purred in her ear with a smile that she could hear.

"Cullen and Michel in equal measure," she smiled and leaned back into him.

"Good teachers," he approved.

Michel had observed enough from the sidelines. "You continue to drop your guard, Bree," Michel critiqued.

Bree and Jean separated both blushing. Michel didn't much care about it so long as Jean remained a gentleman. "He's right," Jean agreed as Michel took the sparring sword from her.

"My guard is always up, gentleman, I'm a mage," she replied making Michel and Jean chuckle. The staff continued about their routine, apparently sparring in the hall was not new to them. Jean got bored quickly and with the weather like this he just moved the events indoors.

"Mages," Jean scoffed as Michel stepped up to challenge Jean to a spar. "One of these days magic will not be there to save you."

Bree rolled her eyes. If she had a coin for every time of her instructors had said that to her she could buy the Empire of Orlais.

**

Despite its size, the Winter Palace was quiet even with the pack of Chevaliers that tended to follow Jean wherever he went. Michel told her that the Prince was creating his household guard and feeling out military advisors. For the most part Bree liked them all. Etienne was quiet around her but always respectful, Navarro tended to stay out of the way but was the one that she liked talking to the most, and Julien was curt and stiffly respectful to her, like he was biting his tongue for what he really wanted to say. Bree perused the palace halls and found it devoid of most people. The boys weren't where they usually were reading correspondence to Jean, sparring, or talking so fast in Orlesian she couldn't follow the topic. She wanted to go riding and was going to ask Jean and the others if they wanted to go too but couldn't find them in the palace.

It was early, a little past sunrise and the stables were busy, very busy and by the time Bree got to there, Jean, his company, a cluster of guards, and some hounds were massing for some kind of event. She had no idea anything was planned but it seemed relaxed so Bree figured it wasn't anything bad.

Those that saw her stopped talking and gave her a bow. They'd been doing that a lot lately, she wasn't royalty and half of these people had a higher station then her so she figured they were either being polite or Jean ordered them to pay her that courtesy. Or both. "Where are you going?" Bree asked addressing Jean through his legion of fellow Chevaliers.

Jean was mounted on Mau and fiddling with his right glove. "On a hunt, mon cherie, last of the season," he answered with a happy smile. "Would you like to come?" He knew her well and knew she would enjoy a hunt. She smiled broadly matching his smile. "Julien, dismount, give her your horse."

The red haired Chevalier blinked, clearly shocked. "What?" he questioned and Etienne shot him a look that paled in comparison to the one Jean leveled at him.

"Give the lady your horse, now." He repeated in clearly more detail.

The knight sputtered and turned red but ultimately did as commanded. He glared at Bree as she approached the black mount. The glare from Julien was unsettling but Bree mounted without aid and gathered the gelding up. The big black courser shifted under her and pawed as Julien took a few moments to adjust the stirrups with barely audible grumbling.

Jacques was a good horse with a nicer personality than Mau but just a much spirit. She felt bad for Julien and really didn't want to displace him but Jean's word was final. She'd never gone on a hunt. She'd hunted before but there was hunting and then there was a Hunt. It was pastime in Orlais.

"I have to say I kind of wish I took your horse." Bree said with a chuckle to Navarro.

Navarro patted Rose's neck and grinned. "Our illustrious, good, and benevolent future Emperor is smarter than that," he said making Jean chuckle loudly.

Bree strayed from the group heading off to the hunt. "Bree, stay close," Jean called and saw her look back at him with a smile and a wink.

"If you want me, come and get me." Bree grinned and put her heels to the gelding.

Navarro and Etienne chuckled and they saw Jean blink at her challenge. "Looks like you have a hunt all your own." Navarro laughed while the rest teased him.

Jean did grin, a grin that could be seen for miles. "Go on without me," he said. "Bree!" Jean called after her before Mau exploded into a gallop after her, he could hear her laughing as he chased. He pressed Mau faster but Julien's horse was far faster than Mau. Bree was a horsewoman, enough to make any of his Chevalier's jealous.

She galloped through the woods along the trail they were not using for the hunt, the hunt was left behind. Jean knew these woods blindfolded and in the dark but Bree trusted her instincts and Jacques. The horse leapt some downed brush and debris and Mau followed before reaching a flat spot and a meadow. She kept running and Jacques lengthened his stride, Jean followed and Mau complied trying to keep up with the faster horse. They raced across the meadow, through the woods some more, and then to clearing with a nice view of the Orlesian countryside.

She pulled Jacques up laughing happily. "He's quite the ride," Bree exclaimed with a wide smile across her face.

Mau wasn't thanking him for the sprint through the woods and his pinned ears reflected it but Jean gathered and calmed the moody stallion chuckling. "Yeah, Jacques is about the only thing I don't dislike about Julien."

Bree didn't asked where the dislike came from. "Better than Mau?"

Jean patted the roan's neck and smirked. "None are better than him."

She took in the view of green fields, foot hills, and how close the mountains were. "You didn't have to do that," she said after a moment of silence. Their sprint through the woods was fun but the hunt was all but forgotten.

"Do what? Race you?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Well, you knew I'd win that," she giggled. "No, I mean displace one of your knights."

Jean shrugged. Julien would be angry about that for weeks but Julien he could handle. "I wanted to be with you and didn't want to wait for your horse to be saddled."

She snorted loudly with a chuckle. "You're impatient."

Jean shrugged again. "Maybe." She was in black and white, with an elegant black cloak, her hair was braided and despite the fly-away parts from the race through the woods she was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. She was happiest here. "You're beautiful."

She blushed and smiled, she had windblown hair and her face was red from the cold air on her face. "Jean, please…"

"Marry me," he asked and side-passed Mau next to her. Her eyes went wide as he caught her off guard with the question. She couldn't form an actual word and he chuckled lightly. "I know I caught you off guard but you're just too beautiful right now," he said placing a silver diamond ring in her palm. "Marry me, Gabriella." He was lucky, most royals didn't get to marry for love. He was lucky just to have the chance.

She pulled the glove off her left hand slipped the ring on her finger. "Yes," she said, a huge and happy smile spread across her face. "Yes, yes, and yes." Jean chuckled and leaned in for a kiss that she was happy to return.

Shouting and barking hounds could be heard through the woods. "Hark. I hear the hunt," she said before Jean pulled away completely. "Who do you think won?"

He laughed. "Etienne. He always wins."

It turned out that Jean was correct. Etienne remained the king of the hunt. "Where'd you two scuttle off to?"

"A gentleman never tells," Jean replied and Etienne only chuckled.

"If he's lulled you into thinking he's a gentleman, My Lady, I'm sorry," Etienne chided and Jean shook his head at the lighthearted ribbing.

"Bichette, they are all liars," he told her.

"I wouldn't make her too angry…looks like she rides better than the rest of us," Navarro warned and she chuckled.

"I could teach you boys some time," they laughed and Jean grinned.

**

Bree was on a cloud when it came time for her to dismount at the palace. She could feel the ring under the glove and she felt like she was going to burst. She didn't need help dismounting but she got assistance anyway from Jean. "I'm going to go tell Michel," she smiled.

Julien said nothing as he watched her leave and examined his horse. He looked fine apart from his coat ripped with sweat marks. The army of grooms took the horses and a few servants took Etienne's prize.

"She better not have done anything to my horse," Julien spat as Jean splashed a few palm-fulls of water from the barrel on to his face.

"She handled your horse better than you ever could," Jean replied flatly and dried his face off before heading back to the palace.

Jean and Julien had always butted heads. Jean didn't like his pompous arrogance but he did owe Julien his life. Julien Mantillon was a good man…when he wanted to be. "Perfect. I get displaced because you want what's warm and wet between her legs. Don't get me wrong she's a tight piece and look-…"

Jean spun and belted him across the jaw with a solid, hard punch. "You watch your mouth!" he barked noticing Etienne nearby with a hand near his sword handle ready to act if needed. "If I tell you to crawl next to your horse you will do it without question and if you ever talk about her like that again I'll cut your tongue out," he snarled and glared until he got the reverence he wanted.

Julien worked his jaw as he staggered into Navarro and looked down at the ground submitting to Jean. He bowed and stayed there, the only course of action he had available…anything else would result in a fight. "My apologies, Your Highness, there is no excuse." Jean didn't reply. He'd cowed Julien, took the apology, and left.

"Really?" Navarro asked. "How stupid are you?"

Julien scowled. "Shut up," he snarled and stalked away.

**

"You do know you're not supposed to go anywhere without a Templar, right?" Michel admonished as he continued to write his letter. He didn't need to look up to know she was there.

Bree sighed. She loved Michel like a father even when he was tough on her. "You afraid I'll burn the forest down, Michel?"

"Bree," he warned gently. She was still in a heap of trouble…even if Jean refused his father's decree.

She didn't like being monitored but she understood. "I'm sorry…I didn't expect to go on the hunt." She said and moved next to him. "But Jean gave me this."

Michel glanced up and saw the ring presented to him. He stopped writing and put the quill down. "He asked you?"

She beamed and nodded holding her hand up watching the ring glisten in the light. "Yes he did," she replied happily. "Can you imagine me Empress of Orlais?"

Michel was happy for her to a point, Elf-blooded and a Mage was a horrible combination for Orlais. "Empress consort, actually."

"I know you're worried and I'm not naïve. I'm a mage, I'm Elf-blooded, I know…but Fereldan has survived with Queen Lydia."

Orlais was vastly different and would be far harder to convince. It worried him. Orlais had changed but not that much. "Congratulations, Bree." Michel smiled and hugged his newly engaged 'daughter'. "I'm writing a letter to your mother, do you want me to mention it?"

"I'll write her a letter if you can include it."

Michel nodded. He missed Khrys, missed her so much it was hard to sleep at night. She was safe in Skyhold…as safe as she could be considering an assassin managed to breach and attack her. He tried not to think of that, Fenris saved her then and he was there now along with Balian.

**

Jean hesitated before entering the chambers given to Bree. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her but decency dictated that he stay a gentleman…it was difficult.

"When will you tell your father?" she asked.

"Soon," Jean answered as she started to take her boots off. "How do you think your father will react?"

Bree cackled and walked up to him as he leaned on the wall. His arms were folded across his chest and she pulled them apart then placed her hands on his chest. "He'll freak out," she smiled and he stood up straight as she ran her hands up and down his chest. "The ring is beautiful, Jean."

"It was my mother's," he said and felt her unbuttoning his tunic. She felt his heart thudding rapidly under her hands. She stood on her tip toes clearly wanting a kiss, Jean complied and leaned down. He nearly lost himself in the kiss. This was to be his bride, his queen, his wife. He wanted her more than anything else right now but his sense of honor got the better of him. "No," he said abruptly breaking from the kiss. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, cherie, I can't."

The passion and depth of the kiss told her otherwise. "You can't?"

"Oh, I want to," he groaned painfully. All he could think of though was what Dorian would do once he found out. He'd rather not be killed by his future father in law. "I really want to. Sleep well, my love."

She kissed him again and he barely resisted again before backing out of the room. He closed the door and pressed his forehead against it with a sigh. "I need a cold bath," he muttered to himself and heard Leanna, one of her Templars, snort.

**

Etienne, as with the others, had heard Jean's news. He did like Bree but he could really only see the potential for disaster, the potential for his best friend to be hurt. He found Jean in his study. Not too much of a study really just somewhere that was quiet where he could drink and read.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Etienne drawled drawing Jean's attention from whatever he was doing. He was thinking about Bree…always thinking about Bree.

"Thank you," Jean replied and noticed Etienne remained quiet as he poured himself a drink. "Speak your mind."

Etienne didn't jump on it right away but thought of what he would say next. How he would say it and he decided to go with direct. "Are you sure about her?" he asked and sat down across from him. "She's a mage and she's Elf-blooded. The people won't like it."

"My father assures me that it's well in hand…" he replied. "I understand your meaning though."

Trying to figure out how Gaspard had it all in hand was a head scratcher. Etienne sure as hell didn't know and neither did Jean but Gaspard was a fine ruler…whatever his reasons or his methods they trusted him. "I don't know how but…she's your choice and I do like her." Etienne did like her. Jean liked feisty and independent women and Etienne liked the delicate flowers.

There was more to his approval. "But?"

Etienne was thinking about the danger, to her and to Jean. "It'll be dangerous for her. She'll need a guard…and protection."

"Mmmhmm," Jean replied.

Etienne's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "If you say it's me, I will punch you in the face."

Jean laughed. "Why not, she can't be that bad."

Etienne didn't have an issue with Bree in that regard, he just didn't want to be the one between her and an enemy, and it wasn't a question of bravery or duty. "I don't want the responsibility." It would destroy him if he let anything happen to her…and it would crush Jean.

Jean wasn't offended that his friend didn't want to be Bree's bodyguard, he actually expected it. Etienne was usually more concerned with his safety which is why Etienne was nominated for head of his Household guard. "No problem. I was thinking more along the lines of Navarro."

Navarro was an excellent choice and he was easy to get along with but there was a better one. "Or Julien. He may be a jerk but he's still the best of us."

"No," he replied. Julien saved his life on the battlefield so he owed him but as Julien looked down at anything that wasn't Orlesian nobility he wasn't comfortable trusting Bree to his care. "Navarro will be it…add him to the two Templars and Michel and she's got all the protection she needs." It took this long but Jean noticed that Etienne had a small scrolled parchment. "What's that?"

Etienne finished off the drink in his glass and passed the note to him. "I've been summoned."

Jean chuckled lightly reading the paper. "And what does the great Duke Arnaud Arles want from you now?"

"Probably to throw another bride to be at me," Etienne muttered and Jean chuckled.

"Well, maybe you should take one," he said and Etienne scoffed.

"Why? I'm not going to inherit anything after my brothers are done and I'd make a terrible husband."

"So I guess I'll just send a reply back saying I can't spare you?"

Etienne grinned broadly. "Would you? Thanks…that would be great."

**

When Etienne left him Jean kept thinking about Bree. How it felt when she was unbuttoning his tunic, how he felt when she kissed him, when she touched him. He couldn't stop thinking it, thinking of that moment before he pushed her away. He stood and left his study.

It was late in the evening and most of the palace was a sleep with the exception of the guards and the second of her Templars, Galen. "You are dismissed," Jean said to Galen who stood outside Bree's room as the ever present magic oriented guardian.

Galen spared the Prince a look and hesitated. "With respect, Highness, I don't take orders from you."

That was not the response Jean was looking for. "Then move further down the hall, Ser," he said irritably. Galen sighed and complied. Jean tapped on the door and heard the permission to enter from the other side.

"What are you doing here?" she asked but Jean kissed her before she finished the question. He didn't say it but his intent was clear and Bree started to unbutton the tunic again.

Bree had never had sex before, he knew that and as badly as he wanted her he didn't want to push or overstep. "Are you sure?" he asked as she slipped her hands under the unbuttoned tunic and managing to push it off his shoulders and onto the floor.

"Yes," she replied and he kissed her again, deeper this time. He leaned down and gathered her up in his arms like a groom carrying a bride across the threshold and carried her to the bed.

**

Bree woke just as the sun began to peak through the drapes. Jean was sleeping soundly next to her and she discovered that she never wanted to sleep alone again. The bed was comfortable anyway but with Jean in it she felt more relaxed and comfortable then she ever had. Her first encounter with sex was better then she'd ever imagined. Books and gossip didn't do it justice at all. Jean was gentle and playful and was more than happy to 'practice' with her throughout the night.

Jean purred as he felt Bree lightly drag her nails over his back. "Oh that feels amazing," he muttered into the pillow.

"It's only fair…what you did to me last night was amazing," she replied and he laughed it off before rolling over onto his back.

Her praise was flattering and embarrassing all the same. "Oh come on," he scoffed.

"How many women have you had?" she asked and he cackled loudly.

"I am fairly sure I shouldn't answer that," he replied and heard her chuckle.

"What? That many?" she laughed as she ran her nails up and down his chest. He had the physique of a warrior along with a few scars. A large one on his right abdomen looked like it was made by a spear, an arrow scar above his left collarbone, and what looked to be a sword cut across to the top of his back.

"I've shared my bed with enough…I'll say no more," Bree shrugged and left it at that, the scars had her attention now.

"Where'd you get this one?" she asked referring to the one that looked like it was made by a spear, the one that looked the most painful.

"My first combat victory. I was 16 and it was my first actual battle. I took a footman's spear clean through my armor. I was unhorsed, on the ground and wounded…Julien saved my life that day. The first time either of us had seen combat and he made sure no one got close to me until I was on my feet, the man is like a dancer with a sword," he explained and she knitted her brows, Julien was the one he clearly didn't like very much but it was clear they had a complicated relationship.

Her hands moved up to the obvious arrow scar. "And this?"

"There was disagreement with some highwaymen in the Emerald Graves a while back that turned into a scuffle. Somehow I was the only one injured out of the whole thing," he explained and stretched before snatching Bree and rolling over to settle above her.

Bree giggled as he kissed her neck and nibbled on her ear. "And the one on your back?" she asked.

He didn't want to talk about that one, he wasn't proud of that one in the slightest. "I don't want to talk about that one," he said and she gave him the lovely smile that he enjoyed so much. "I love you."

**

By the time Bree and Jean left the room they were starving. They reached the dining hall and found Michel, they were late to breakfast and apparently everyone else had come and gone.

"Good morning, Michel," Bree greeted kissing his cheek as she copied his chosen breakfast of bread and honey. Jean grabbed an apple.

"You slept in," Michel said and Bree blushed. Jean didn't hide his smirk fast enough and Michel made his deduction at lightning speed. This time, Michel didn't resist the fatherly urge and punched the Prince across the jaw. Jean bedded his daughter, of that he was certain. "That was from me," he said firmly pointing a finger at him. "Dorian will kill you."

Jean worked his jaw and rubbed it. Striking royalty like that was pretty much a death sentence…or at least worthy of harsh punishment. "Michel!" Bree cried out in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Did you take advantage of her?" Michel demanded with a growl.

"I didn't take advantage of anything," Jean replied coolly. "You hit like an anvil."

Michel enjoyed the satisfaction of Jean's comment, he'd hit him again if he got the notion. "Michel, stop it. He didn't take advantage of me…it was actually me who started it."

That generated an image that Michel didn't want to see and he held up his hand. "Ah ah…stop…I don't need think of that," he said swiftly and looked at Jean. "Ne lui brise pas le coeur," he told him in a warning tone.

Jean nodded to him and Bree understood what he said. 'Do not break her heart.' Jean couldn't fathom hurting her in anyway. He'd die to protect her and he'd do anything and everything he could to make her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos. Feedback is greatly appreciated.


	24. Gaspard

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Chapter Twenty Four: Gaspard

 

Gaspard sighed heavily, the letter from his son irritated him. He asked Bree for her hand, honestly he'd expected it, but it still created an impending mess that he had to sort out. Fereldan made a mage Queen consort work…so could they. That was the theory at least. He offered Cedric a smoke and a drink but his guard declined and assumed his post outside the study.

Gaspard flipped through the letters on his desk and sipped the drink poured from the Tevinter wine decanter. His son changed his schedule somewhat now. He needed to get the Council of Heralds in line and a few nobles too so the announcement about Bree wouldn't start a civil war…again. He was also waiting for a screaming explosion on the horizon to the east…that would be Dorian. He chuckled to the thought and took another drink.

All of the sudden something didn't feel right, the wine also tasted bitter…more than normal for Tevinter wine of this vintage. He set the glass on the edge of the desk. His throat started to burn like he'd yelled too much and tried to clear it. As he did he tasted something metallic in his mouth then coughed. Something came up with the cough and as he wiped his lip he saw the blood. He coughed again bringing up more blood. "Cedric!" he tried to call and coughed again. A frightening amount of blood was spat up now coating his chin, hands, and chest. "Cedri-…" He collapsed to the floor with a thud and the glass was knocked off the desk shattering on the floor.

Cedric cocked his head outside. "Majesty?" he questioned and saw something very wrong. "Gaspard!"

There was blood everywhere, all over the floor, his face, his clothes…it was horrible. The Emperor was still alive but gurgled as Cedric wiped the blood away. Cedric tried not to panic and checked for any type of wound…he didn't find one. Now he was caught between staying with him, giving him a healing potion, or calling for help.

He left the Emperor's side and ran to the door to the study drawing his blade. He clanged the flat side hard against the marble wall outside the study. "Raise the alarm! Fetch the Healer, NOW!" he roared as his voice and sword noise echoed off the wall. Once he saw guards scrambling away from and to him he ran back inside.

"Hang on," he coached as the palace bell began to ring. "Hang on, Gaspard, they're coming." He popped the top on a potion and tried to give it to him but there was too much blood and the Emperor of Orlais died in his arms. "Gaspard? Gaspard!"

Guards and servants flooded in like a burst dam but by the time the healer got to them there was nothing to be done. She was a healer mage and she tried to heal. He was dead…there was nothing left to heal. Cedric didn't realize that he'd left bloody handprints on the wall and door and it only became apparent when he heard Charlotte shriek. He had too much blood on his hands to go to Charlotte and console her. "Get her out of here."

"Father!" she screamed seeing the body.

Cedric went to her and she shrieked again seeing the blood all over him. "Charlotte-…"

"Maker, Cedric, what happened? Father!" she screamed again.

Cedric didn't want to touch her but he did to stop her. "Charlotte, stop. You do not want to see this." He looked at the palace guards he knew and trusted. "Ricar, Frederick, take her back to her chambers and stay there. Pick two men you trust and put her mother under guard as well," he ordered and turned to a fellow Chevalier. "Kristoff, make sure the palace is sealed, order the Household and Palace guards to ensure no one leaves." Those he ordered left without question except Charlotte who protested wildly but inevitably was herded away by the two guards.

**

Etienne rubbed his eyes as he trotted down the steps in the middle of the night. A servant roused him from his sleep in an urgent manner but he didn't know why. In the foyer was a messenger, a Royal messenger, named Prax. Prax was in direct service to the Emperor and his tunic reflected Gaspard's coat of arms. If he was here something serious was up and he looked like he'd galloped the whole way here.

"What?" Etienne asked in a sharp tone. He wasn't trying to be rude but it was the middle of the night.

Prax handed him two sealed letters. "From Cedric de Rouen, My Lord." He said but his tone told him that something else was up. "It's about the Emperor."

Jean and Bree were startled awake from the loud banging on the door. Startled, Jean tightened his arms around Bree. "Wha-…" she began. "That the door?"

Jean sat up and rubbed his eyes, the knocking was loud and urgent. "Enter!" he called and got out of bed stark naked. What did they expect in the middle of the night? He pulled some trousers on as Etienne entered. Jean lit a sconce and kept his friend away from line of sight of his bed with Bree pulling clothing on. "Etienne, what is the emergency?" he asked annoyed.

"Urgent message from Val Royeaux," he answered handing him a scrolled and sealed letter.

Something was wrong, he could see it in Etienne's eyes but the message was still sealed. Jean cracked the wax and read it. What he read took his breath away and his facial expression fell. "Jean?" Bree questioned and her appearance caused Etienne to bow. "Jean?"

"My father is dead…" he said after a moment of trying to force the words from his mouth. His father was dead. How could his father be dead? What he read and what he said hadn't sunk in yet…he didn't understand it, the kid in him that always looked up to his father refused to believe that he could be dead.

Bree blinked in shock but suspected that Etienne already had some inclination that something had happened judging by his expression. "What?" she blurted and took the letter.

Etienne turned to the guards with him. "Wake the palace, put all guards on alert and fetch Ser Michel."

Jean was still in a bit of a fog and Bree swallowed hard after reading. "Why Michel?" It was a stupid question but she couldn't think of anything else.

"He's the heir," Etienne said pointing to Jean. "Michel is the most seasoned Chevalier in Halamshiral and by all accounts the Emperor was poisoned."

Bree was shocked. "Poisoned?"

Jean finally got it together. He beat everything back and reverted to his training. "Etienne, where is my sister?"

Etienne held up a letter with a broken Chevalier seal. "Cedric has her under guard," he answered and one of the thousand questions he had was how did this happen and where was Cedric?

"Bring me Cecil too," he added and waved his hand to dismiss him. Etienne nodded respectfully and left. Bree handed the letter back to Jean and he sat down and put his head in his hands.

"Jean…" Bree began kneeling down in front of him. It didn't seem real but at the same time he knew it was. He couldn't fall apart now…what kind of precedent would that set? "Jean, talk to me," she said and pulled his hands away from his face. "I'm sorry."

Jean pulled himself together and squeezed her hands. He said nothing and stood so he could get dressed. He had to keep it together now and mourn his father later.

**

The sheer number of guards and Chevaliers coming up into the Winter Palace was staggering. When Jean told Etienne to send for a man named Cecil he meant Duke Cecil Blanchard of Val Montainge, a senior member of the Chevalier order and the second highest ranking General in Orlais. He, Gaspard, and Ducet had been lifelong friends much like Jean's relationship with Etienne, Julien, and Navarro. The guards he was with wore his crest and flew his banner. The banner of a noble family that was one of the oldest in Orlais, the Chevaliers with him followed him since he was now the leader of the Chevalier Order. Cecil had a commanding presence but unlike most Orlesian nobles he was kind and fair. His people followed him both because he was powerful and because he was a good man. His men scattered into guard ranks without a word. They understood their job and had been trained by their Duke personally.

Cecil dismounted from his impressive grey mare, an Anderfel Courser named Mya, and examined his surroundings. The Winter Palace had countless guards already in place, his men only fortified them but if his longtime friend was dead then his son warranted protection.

Jean was happy to see Cecil. He was a magnificent teacher and an even better General. Jean stood when he saw him and Cecil fell to one knee. "Majesty, I pledge myself and my household to you as I had to your father."

Jean nodded and motioned for him to stand. "Thank you, Cecil," he said and gestured to Bree. "May I introduce my fiancée Lady Gabriella Pavus. Bree, this is Duke Cecil Blanchard of Val Montainge, General, and now the leader of the Chevalier Order." The last bit was tough to say, Gaspard was the greatest Chevalier in Orlais and its leader since before he was born. As Emperor now he could declare himself leader but it would be dishonorable and something he didn't earn, Cecil was by far a better fit.

Cecil stood accepting the introduction and looked toward the strikingly beautiful woman he'd gestured to. "I've been told of your beauty and grace, My Lady, and may I say they don't do you justice," he bowed and Bree blushed. Cecil looked to be in his mid-50s, 5'10", with blue eyes, and blonde hair that was long and pulled back into a low ponytail.

"You're too kind, Your Grace," she smiled and he returned his attention to Jean.

"News from Val Royeaux?" Cecil inquired.

Jean pushed the emotions down again. "Cedric said it was the wine. Alchemists say it was a poison mixed into the Tevinter Red. My father's favorite."

"What kind of poison?" he asked.

Jean shrugged, Cedric didn't have an answer for that in the last report he'd sent. "Alchemists are looking into it."

"And your sister?"

"Under guard. Cedric's loyalists guards. They haven't found him, the Captain of the Guard and Cedric are pulling the palace apart now looking for the assassin and any accomplices." Jean answered.

There was a pause before Cecil spoke. "Majesty, I know this must be tough for you but we do have things that need to be discussed."

Matters of State, he was referring to the transition of power and organization. Jean looked at Bree. "Bree could you give us a minute?" He asked and she smiled to him. The gentle, beautiful smile he loved so much. His emotions were in an uproar but when she smiled at him he felt a little better.

Cecil's eyes followed her out but not in a leering or disrespectful manner, he was happily married and had been for 20 years. Bree did remind him of Mireille though, it was the way she carried herself, the combination of regal grace and spirit. "I hear she's a Knight-Enchanter."

"Yes. She's a mage," Jean replied and turned to face the window, the skies were grey and threatening a cold rain. It wouldn't be long before it started snowing. The line was becoming tiresome and Cecil heard it.

"I know. I was one of the ones helping your father smooth it over with the Council of Heralds." Jean turned slightly and Cecil changed the subject. "It's never really a good time after something like this but do you have your house in order?"

Cecil was of course referring to his chosen advisors, guards, and household knights. Jean had most of it figured out to a point. "I want you as my military advisor," he said first and Cecil nodded, it would displace Ducet from the current role but Cecil knew Pierre well enough to know he would cause a stir over it. Cecil's nod was enough of an answer for Jean and he continued. "Etienne Arles is the head of my house and I've named Navarro as Bree's bodyguard."

The one that bothered Cecil was Etienne, he was young. Very young. "Etienne is quite young."

Jean nodded sharply. "He knows what he's doing and his attention won't be divided." Everyone knew that the young man stood to inherit nothing from Jader in the way of lands and titles but he was very wealthy.

"And have you selected a guard?"

"Not yet."

"Who's your guard now?"

"Aside from the entire palace?" he chided and Cecil raised an eyebrow. "I need to get to Val Royeaux…that or have someone bring Charlotte here."

"Not until they clear the palace." Cecil replied. "She's safer there with Cedric and the Chevaliers."

Jean wanted to believe that but it was hard. His father was killed in that palace. He wanted to have words with Cedric, with the guards, he wanted to help rip that palace apart with his bare hands. "I can't sit here and do nothing, Cecil."

"You have to. Like it or not, Majesty, you are the heir…the Emperor," Cecil reminded. "Your protection has become paramount. Your previous freedoms are gone, your sister, your betrothed-…"

Jean was frustrated with being idle, frustrated with the loss, worried, and all the while still hadn't had a chance to grieve. "I know," he snapped. "I…I don't know if I can do this, Cecil."

Cecil nodded and had a measure of understanding. "That may be so," he replied. "But unfortunately, Majesty, you don't have a choice. This is your birthright, young man." Cecil was strictly proper, using titles instead of names, referring to him as 'young man' was very informal for him. "Your father taught you well and you have the lost talent of listening…you will do fine, Jean."

All his life he dreamed of one day ruling in his father's place, he mused about it, thought about it in the same great detail that a girl dreams of her wedding. Right now, he didn't want it. None of it. It was all too fast, too much, and it still didn't seem real.

**

Bree worried about him, she watched Jean from a distance. He'd changed, he was quieter, and carrying a burden that he was always meant for but never wanted so soon. The man named Cecil appeared to her right as she observed Jean speaking with the Lord of Halamshiral.

"He will be fine, My Lady," Cecil told her making a genuine effort not to sound patronizing. He was trying to figure her out, the fact she was Elf-blooded wasn't a concern for him…the fact that she was a mage was. "He just needs to adjust and accept what has happened."

"It's been two days, damnit," she snapped and Cecil allowed a smile. "If my father was assassinated I'd be handling it a whole lot worse than he is."

He appreciated her concern for Jean. It helped him assess how committed she was him. "I understand," he replied but the truth was that none of them could understand Jean's position. Bree shot him a look but she was still trying to decide if she liked him or not. Jean certainly did and it was clear Cecil was loyal to Jean.

Someone interrupted them. "Cecil," Navarro greeted brightly with a smile.

Cecil grinned and looked him up and down. "Navarro, you're looking well, young man," he said and shook his hand.

"I am well, thank you," he smiled back noticing Bree was watching them. "Cecil sponsored me into the Chevaliers…and gave me my horse."

Bree smiled at them. Navarro was the most unique of all the Chevaliers that hung around Jean and she didn't mind him as her guard. Contrary to what was expected, Navarro's family didn't treat him as an outsider, his father loved him and he had the typical relationship with his brothers. They picked on him but it was sibling rivalry based, he was third in the line up behind his two older brothers even though he and Stefan were less than a year apart. The only girl among them was Rachelle, two years younger and already married off. "Why didn't your father sponsor you?"

"Only other Chevalier's can sponsor. Not everyone is cut out for the Academie, veteran Chevaliers can spot the traits and behaviors so no one gets hurt and no one's time is wasted," Cecil explained.

"Cecil comes from a long line of Chevaliers. The Blanchard's of Val Montainge are a well-known name around the Academie," Navarro said and Cecil chuckled. "Didn't help me much…got my ass kicked on a daily basis even with his name as my sponsor."

"That's because you talk too much, young man," Cecil replied and Bree chuckled she had not equated Navarro with being a chatterbox.

**

Michel was summoned politely to talk with the new Emperor. He couldn't get a read on the young man. He was clearly trying to bottle up his grief and trying to shoulder his new responsibility. So far he was going about this as professionally as possible. With the arrival of Cecil Blanchard and a significant number of Chevaliers it was clear Jean was putting his advisors in place and fortifying at the same time. The fact that his sister was still in Val Royeaux he suspected was a point of contention for him. Jean was, by all accounts, just like his father. Just as prone to rash behavior.

"You sent for me, Majesty?"

Jean wasn't comfortable being called that and he was pulled from his deep thought at the sound of the Michel's voice. "You don't have to call me that, Michel," he said. Michel heard it and filed it away, old habits were hard to break.

"I know your parentage, Michel," he announced after a moment of thought. There was no easy way to bring that up gently. Michel's expression was muddled but his eyes said it all. That spooked look that someone gave when a secret came out.

Michel's mind raced in panic, Gaspard let him go, kept his secret, and later pardoned him. Jean couldn't be so foolish and condemn him now. Bree would never forgive him, the Inquisition would turn on him, and the Chevalier Order may not believe him without evidence. "How-…" he began and Jean answered first.

"My father told me," he said and Michel felt the cut. Gaspard swore he'd never tell anyone.

Michel was already on the defensive and his posture reflected it. "He pardoned me."

Jean nodded. "I know. I also know that he considered you the most honorable man he'd ever met. You defeated him in single combat and forfeited to save a nation."

Michel didn't remember it that way. He forfeited because he had to. "Sort of," he muttered and Jean allowed a smile. Michel looked very uncomfortable now.

"Your secret is safe with me, Michel, I just wanted to make sure we were completely honest." Michel swallowed trying to relieve his nerves. "I need a guard, Ser Michel. Temporarily of course, I know you're not staying in Orlais permanently, but until I get back to Val Royeaux and get my people settled I want the best."

Michel was flattered by the notion that he was the best in Jean's eyes, the admiration of his father notwithstanding. He was quiet as he thought it over, Chevaliers were often assigned as bodyguards to royalty but he was curious as to why he'd choose him over someone he was closer to.

Jean clearly read his mind. "You defeated my father in single combat, Michel, Bree trusts you, Cecil trusts you, and so do I."

Michel scratched his head, thinking. "Temporarily, yes."

**

Things had been so busy Jean failed to realize that two days had passed. He'd been up the entire time working out details for his own government or just plain ignoring the loss. He was the heir apparent but his rule wouldn't be official until his coronation. He was exhausted and there were so many people, military and nobles, in the Winter Palace he could invade Nevarra without a problem. The palace's biggest garrison aside from his guard belonged to Cecil but he'd been informed that forces from Jader were on the way as well. It was a mess and he had an army at his disposal.

He thought of it all and his mind went to the darkest place. He pictured his father dead and pulled his mask off throwing it across his room with a growl. He had to appear like a rock in front of everyone. He wanted nothing more to scream for his father, upset and unable to control it anymore, he let it out. His father had always been there for him, taught him honor, duty, and how to be a good man. Some still called his father a Usurper but the bottom line was that Gaspard was a great ruler. His alliance with the Inquisition kept the Empire stable and ensured that Fereldan and the Empire stayed good neighbors. The Empire was the safest it had been in decades. That was his father's doing, not a usurper, an Emperor.

He was killed by a coward, the greatest Chevalier that Orlais ever produced had been murdered. He dropped to his knees and broke down. He hadn't sobbed like this since he was a child but once it started he couldn't stop it. He ceased being the 20 year old ruler of Orlais and became a 10 year old kid who missed his father. Everything rushed back in a slow replay of his life. Gaspard had taught him everything, from how to tie his shoes, to how to ride, to how to fight. He'd never forget how proud his father was when he saw him after Jean's first campaign, he won in a decisive victory and not only that but he lead from the front. Gaspard had never been so proud of him.

"Jean," a voice said from behind him and there was a flare of anger from him, he just wanted to be alone, but he recognized the voice. It was Bree and he relaxed slightly. The next thing he knew she was beside him. She embraced him tenderly trying to comfort him, he allowed her to guide him pulling him to her letting him cry into her.

**

One thing could be said for the Palace Guard in Orlais, they were thorough and they were also vigilant. The reason it took the Black Hand assassin so long to carry out his contract was a direct result of that. He was tall but not so tall he stood out and just handsome enough to get what he wanted but not so much it drew too much attention. Assassinating the Emperor of Orlais required a delicate touch, his security was vigilant but the Chevalier named Cedric de Rouen couldn't be at his side at every second. Poison was not his favorite method of assassination but it did the trick when done right. He preferred the close kill of the knife but he'd been paid to carry out a contract not to die.

It took time for him to install himself in the palace and get a pretty servant to bend to his will. The dainty, mousy, blonde was easy to manipulate after he'd bedded her. She never saw him lace the Tevinter Red with enough poison to kill the entire palace twice. She never knew that she delivered her sovereign the thing that killed him.

He couldn't leave the Palace yet, he needed to finish the contract and kill the heir as well. Unfortunately, the heir liked to scuttle around the Winter Palace and by all accounts it was virtually impossible to breech. He didn't try either. He didn't need to. The heir would come to him…eventually. Right now he had to avoid unwanted eyes, his first step was to kill the servant girl and dispose of her body. She was lovely and pleasant in bed but she'd had served her purpose. He killed her quietly and hid, devising a plan to kill Jean.

The problem he had with Charlotte was the same problem he'd had with Gaspard only it was worse now. His employer preferred to leave the girl be if at all possible. The problem he had with anything he attempted now was that food tasters would be everywhere so poison by food was done. Killing the Prince – or rather Emperor now – would be tough. Assassination via blade was not advisable. Jean-Fredric, while young, wasn't a pushover, the possibility he would see the attack and retaliate was too high. Defeating a Chevalier Prince in single combat wasn't something he wanted to do at all. Assassins worked in the shadows, if you were famous, you were doing it wrong. A poisoned arrow was efficient but logistically difficult. Until he figured it out he hid.

**

Jean looked as proper as they came dressed in formal attire at the behest of Cecil. The Council of Heralds, or at least some of them, were arriving to greet their new Emperor. Jean's coronation was a long way off but he was the heir apparent.

Some were coming to swear fealty and some were coming for reasons he didn't care to know. He never liked the Council of Heralds; they held too much power and got in the way. He learned the wisdom of keeping them around, they could handle things that he didn't need to. It didn't mean they weren't sniveling social climbers that got on his nerves.

Bree wore a silver dress, her long black hair spilled down her back with two braids pulling the sides away from her face tied together in the middle. She didn't have a mask on and he was grateful for that, she was too beautiful to hide. "You're beautiful," he told her quietly and in Orlesian.

"You're bias, your Majesty," she replied also in Orlesian.

"We have to work on your Orlesian, ma bichette, your accent is terrible," he told her. "How can your accent be this bad when you grew up with Michel?"

She stepped closer with a suggestive smile. "Anything else you want to teach me, your Majesty?" she purred and she heard him growl lightly.

"I can think of one or two things," he smiled and was able to sneak a kiss before people arrived.

Only a few members of court arrived, some were in Val Royeaux, some were close enough to arrive in a decent amount of time but others weren't close enough to arrive on such short notice. Once everything was sorted out in Val Royeaux there would be a coronation and then he would accept fealty from the nobles and his subjects.

The two members of the Council of Heralds that arrived were Duke Gustav de Chevin, a young blonde man who was well known for speaking his mind even if no one wanted to hear it. When Bree heard the name she thought he was related to Michel but then remembered that de Chevin was a dead line but the name was sporadically used. According to Jean, Gustav wasn't a bad guy but he only like three of the council members…the rest annoyed him. The other member was a tall and elegant brunette in a green and gold dress; this was Jean's favorite member, she was family. Duchess Philippa de Chalons was Duke Germain's granddaughter. She inherited his seat on the Council. She was smart and striking…definitely a de Chalons.

"Jean-Fredric," she bowed to him with a smile and Jean nodded. She never called him just Jean it was always his full name. It annoyed him greatly. He saw the quiet exchange of flirtatious smiles between her and Julien and his annoyance grew. He'd address that later.

"Pip," he replied in kind to her smile. She knew she annoyed him by calling him by his full name. "Your Grace," he nodded to the Duke who gave him a curt nod.

"Highness," he replied and the room fell silent at the use of highness instead of the correct address of majesty.

"You're addressing the Emperor, Gustav, remember that," Cecil reminded sternly.

Gustav simply eyed him. "If you wish to call him that, yes," he ground out and the on lookers that had gathered gasped and murmured to the clear and intentional disrespect.

"Are you questioning this line of succession, Lord?" Philippa spoke up with a slightly surprised tone. This man was brave or stupid…she was leaning toward stupid.

"I am questioning the method he achieved it."

Jean's head tilted slightly, Bree had observed that the masks blocked most facial expressions and she'd given this move of his head the same merit as a furrowed brow. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in strangled calm.

Gustav explained. "Let's not forget that you were conveniently absent from Val Royeaux after an argument with your father over your desire to marry your Elf-blooded mage."

Jean's blood went cold and his slow turn toward the Duke told everyone who knew him that he was angry. He was offended on every level at the allegation that he had something to do with his father's assassination. He stalked toward the tall Duke, grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him to the ground with a roar. "You dare accuse me of killing my father!"

"Majesty!" he heard Cecil warn but ignored him.

Jean pulled a knife and held it to the Duke's throat. "I should kill you. My father would have."

"Jean!" Cecil barked. "Do not kill him."

He considered it…he really considered it but Cecil's council was usually sound and he really shouldn't start his rule with the killing of a member of the Council of Heralds. "Does anyone else think I had something to do with my father's murder?" he asked loudly to the entire room then stood up straight but made sure the Duke stayed down. "If you do, challenge me now. Right here, right now." No one stepped forward, they looked at each other and averted eye contact. "Strip this man of his rank and title and expel him from the court."

That caused a stir, murmuring grew and grew. "I am a member of the Council of Heralds!"

"That does not give you the right to question my honor!" Jean snarled back. "Julien, get him out of here." The man protested loudly as Julien complied with the order to throw him out. "Anyone else wish to voice their opinion?"

No one spoke. Jean cowed his court and let out an internal breath. He needed to be firm enough to handle them but light enough to make sure they didn't turn on him. Cecil was right. "I want to return to Val Royeaux as quickly as possible."

"Majesty, I strongly advise against that," Etienne said beating Cecil to the punch.

"The palace isn't secure. They haven't found the assassin yet. Princess Charlotte is under the guard of a half a dozen Chevaliers, you should stay here," Cecil added and Jean growled.

"I will not hide here like a rat. I will return to Val Royeaux and if the assassin wishes to try their luck on me then they are free to do so."

"And if he, she, or they succeed?" Etienne asked and he shrugged.

"Then I'm counting on one of you to finish the job," he replied with a half-smile and a wink from behind the mask. He caught Bree's approving eye from across the room.

Michel stepped forward after watching the display. He gauged Jean, he had a temper but with a little guidance he would be a fine ruler. "If the Emperor wishes to return to Val Royeaux…I have an idea."

**

The shift from the Winter Palace to the Royal Palace was something that had been practiced. The scenario that no one wanted but hand planned for was underway. Jean preferred to rule from Halamshiral and probably would once everything settled down. Right now he needed to be in Val Royeaux to curb anyone who had other ideas with who the next Emperor was.

Bree was worried, Jean wasn't himself. He was quiet and closed off and every time she asked him he brushed it off. He had a certain focus that she attributed to him being thrust into his birthright just a little bit early and in such a fashion that was awful for any child to deal with no matter the age. She didn't blame him for any of his short behavior. If her father was murdered she'd be an absolute mess.

Hearing that the new Emperor was returning to the Val Royeaux was not as good of news that the assassin thought it would be. It was actually a bit daunting. Somehow he had to kill him, quickly. He had a few plans that had merit but only one or two that weren't suicidal. He intended to walk away from this contract. He'd heard of the debacle in Skyhold but hadn't heard from the rest. A quick and easy way to carry out his task was by bow, not his preferred method but then again neither was poisoning.

He picked his spot. Not the greatest place for assassination by bow and arrow but it could be done. The hardest, least elegant, part of it would be the escape. The contingent was larger than he'd expected, more Chevaliers then he had anticipated and an enormous number of soldiers under the red coat of arms banner of the Blanchard's. A green sunburst banner was also seen, Arnaud Arles of Jader, more than likely led by his son Etienne, yellow feathers of Chevaliers, purple surcoats of palace guards, and a mishmash of countless others. He hesitated briefly…this was insane.

The heir apparent was in full armor as expected and there was a black haired woman to his right in dawnstone and white. The oddest sight was the lone Inquisition knight, and there had to be a mage in the group…the Templars wouldn't be there otherwise. He judged it…he could back out and figure out a way to do this with less risk. But it would take too much time. He'd never get close enough for the knife, poison was used and never to be used again…he'd kill a thousand food tasters before he'd get close to the Jean.

He was at the limit of the short bows range – he preferred the long bow but it was a bit impractical – the bodkin point was poisoned and his placement had to be perfect to penetrate the armor. The neck was the weakest point. He used the heaviest arrow he had, the bodkin point was short, and the heavy recurve was the best it was going to get. He nocked the arrow and lightly brushed the fletching with his fingers on the way back to the string. It was a habit he did now. He had to fire, hit the Emperor, and vanish. Easier said than done. He saw his opening and took it.

Jean and Bree had dismounted and Bree felt uneasy, Michel did as well but she did as he told her and stayed close to Jean. She wasn't a bodyguard but she had the best defense. Instinct told her to raise the shield.

The green shield appeared around Bree and Jean just in time to send the arrow on a free return trajectory back in the direction it was launched from. The assassin ducked the arrow and cursed quietly, mages he could handle, they died like the rest, though they usually required some creativity to do so. That being said, in all the time he'd spent mage hunting in Tevinter he'd never seen a barrier like that. He couldn't loose another arrow, someone had already tracked where that one landed and mobilized. He moved quickly, he'd learned the layout of the palace and used that to his advantage.

Michel's risky plan to draw out the assassin worked and Julien saw the movement. His heavy armor was lighter than most, custom made to his specifications. Gave him room to move and didn't hinder his agility. He could also sprint in it and not be totally spent after 12 feet. He knew this palace and saw where the assassin had been. There were only a few ways out that were ideal for someone trying to remove themselves from the commotion. That was where Julien headed.

The assassin focused on escape, he thought about ditching the bow but decided to keep it for now. He managed to duck some guards, skirted the corners, and barreled down the hall. A lone servant was unlucky and she was killed neatly and quietly with his boot knife. There was too much noise in the direction he wanted to go so he moved on in the other direction, down the steps, someone was nearby. He reached the bottom of the step and nearly lost it all.

Julien swung, he timed his blow perfectly but the assassin bent back like a contortionist until he was nearly parallel with the ground. It was a perfect maneuver that caused Julien's blade to hit the stone of the walls. The Chevalier wasn't fooled by the move and followed him easily. He didn't give the assassin time to gather himself but he managed to evade Julien's next attack sacrificing his bow. Julien felt the limb hit the metal of his helm hard enough to knock it off his head. The bow cracked sounding like the snap of a whip inside his helm then the assassin drew a dirk from his back.

Fighting a knight in armor armed with a arming sword with nothing but a dirk was not the brightest or best idea anyone could have but the alternative wasn't something the assassin looked forward to. If he was captured they would kill him. So he fought. Knights were heavier, slower, and hard to penetrate but had significant weaknesses. His helm was off so that was hurtle number one.

It was close quarters and his opponent was clearly competent. Brave or stupid to fight him with a dirk but to Julien it didn't matter much. He was supremely confident but had the skill to back it all up, the close quarters changed his tactics a little and his opponent was light on his feet. He needed to be precise, rogues were dangerous adversaries especially the exceptionally trained ones.

There was no taunting, no bravado, no panache, just skill. The assassin knew what he was doing and moved quickly with precision strikes aiming for the chinks. To escape the assassin had to get past him and that wasn't going to happen. He ducked and dodged Julien's razor sharp blade and scored a hit to Julien's cheek giving him a deep but clean cut. Julien felt the cut, blocked it out, and felt the familiar dull sting of poison then responded with finely honed brutality. The cost of landing a potentially fatal hit on the knight put him too close to Julien.

He trapped his right hand and brought his armored right arm down on it as hard as he could. The assassin squawked in pain with the breaking of his arm. The dirk clattered to the ground as soon as the arm broke but he punched Julien in the jaw with the other fist. Julien hit him with the pommel and the assassin fell to the ground.

He looked up at the ginger knight that had his sword pointed at his throat. "Know when you're beaten," Julien snarled and the assassin grimaced in pain. He was beaten and surrendered. "Now get up, you cur."

He heard feet echoing down the hall and then Navarro's voice. "Julien!"

"Here!" he called back hauling the wounded, tired assassin to his feet by his throat.

"You took him alive?" Navarro asked as he and a troop of guards arrived.

"Course I did," He replied curtly and grimaced at the cut and the poison now swimming around his system. If it was Quiet Death or Black Hand he'd be dead by now.

"You're leaking." Navarro commented as the guards subdued the assassin with the broken arm.

Julien gave him a quick glare. He didn't need to be told that, he felt it when it happened. Now he had blood draining down his cheek and onto his neck. "It's poisoned," he replied and collected his helm.

Navarro nodded. "Alright…let's get you a healer."

The entirety of Royal Palace guards had mobilized and combined with what Jean had brought with him and over the course of 10 minutes the Royal Palace became the most protected and inaccessible place in the world. It wasn't a bad reflection on the Palace guards, Cedric, Ducet, or the loan member of the Council of Heralds in the palace Cyril de Montfort. The assassin would predictably hide until their next mark would arrive. Flushing them out could only happen one way. They kept the Princess safe and that was good enough for Jean.

"You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, Majesty," Duke Cyril de Montfort said as he approached him with Ducet. Cyril was the second most tenured member of the Council of Heralds and one of the few Jean didn't mind. The Duke bowed to him as did Ducet but Jean only gave them an acknowledging nod. He saw Julien approach victorious…and wounded.

"Well done, Julien," Jean said and shook the Chevalier's hand. He held the cloth to his cheek left hand and shook Jean's hand.

"Thank you, Majesty," he nodded and stepped away to have someone tend the gash on his face. The Chevalier made eye contact with Philippa who have him a sweet smile. Julien returned her smile with a wink and disappeared.

"It was Michel's 'dramatic flair' actually. Well done, Ser." Cecil corrected as they joined the group. Michel was quite pleased with himself although he didn't show it. Putting Bree in her position wasn't something he wanted to do but it was the best option he had and it worked.

**

Jean held the serpentstone dirk examining it with a critical eye. It was poisoned like the one in Skyhold was but Zevran noted that the Black Hand tended to use serpentstone. The poison was yet to be identified but since Julien wasn't dead yet it was probably a form of Soldier's Bane. That's what it smelled like.

"Palace is squared away," Etienne informed hesitating slightly seeing Charlotte sitting in the corner. Jean had been back for a few hours now and Charlotte never left his presence. She loved and trusted her big brother.

"How's Julien?"

"Stitched up his face…he won't be as pretty but he'll be fine. Soldier's Bane was the poison…apothecary gave him an antidote." There was a pause before he continued. The assassin was in the dungeon and to his knowledge Jean hadn't seen him yet. "Have you seen him yet?"

"No," he answered quickly.

Etienne grunted and glance at Charlotte before back to Jean. "Julien was surprisingly gentle…only has a broken arm."

Jean put that out of his mind, they had the assassin. He was there in the dungeon but he couldn't see him yet. He had to focus on everything else first.

"Here I thought Michel's plan was really fucking risky but it worked like a charm," Etienne continued and Jean had to agree. Bree was the one who saved him and he now understood fully why Michel insisted that Bree stay near him.

Before Etienne could speak again they were interrupted. Cedric appeared having been summoned. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to face the son of the man he failed to protect.

Jean gave him a smile. "Cedric, come in," he said as Etienne stepped away but not out. He offered Charlotte a brief smile that she didn't return. It was odd not to see it from her.

His father's bodyguard was a quiet man, minor nobility from Val Firmin but had been selected personally by Gaspard to be his guard. Right now Cedric looked ashamed…guilty…he'd failed in his duty but it was impossible to pin down where it was his fault. "Majesty," he bowed.

"Why is he here?" Charlotte snarled and Jean and Etienne gave her a strange looks. Cedric had protected her but she was trying to find someone to blame. Cedric was a logical starting point. "Where were you? You were supposed to protect him."

"Charlotte," Jean cautioned. "Cedric's a bodyguard not a food taster."

"He let him die," she cried. Her voice hurt him, her words and her tone.

"Charlotte," Jean warned in a commanding tone.

"You weren't here, you didn't see father covered in blood!" she was upset and being irrational but that didn't excuse her. Jean had warned her a few times already and she'd ignored him.

"Charlotte!" he boomed. "Etienne," Etienne didn't need more of an explanation and moved to guide the upset princess away.

"Don't brush me off, damn you," she snapped but blinked at the glare that reminded her of father. Etienne lightly pulled on her arm urging her out of the room. She went…with protest.

"What happened, Cedric?" Jean asked when they were alone. Cedric stood proudly but not as confidently as he once had.

"Someone poisoned the Red," he said but Jean already knew that. "Everything was normal, typical evening. He offered me a drink and a smoke, I declined as usual and left him to his study. A few minutes later he called for me and…" he trailed off not wanting to go into detail about how he found the Emperor in a pool of his own blood. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty."

If Jean blamed him for his father's death he would be dead by now. He would have been beheaded in the courtyard long ago but Jean didn't blame him. He blamed the assassin locked away in Val Royeaux's not so glamourous prison. "Stop apologizing, Cedric, you have nothing to apologize for. Father always said that poison was hard to protect against," he assured trying to put the man at ease. It didn't. "I need a guard," he said after a heavy sigh.

Cedric's brow furrowed. "Pardon, Majesty?"

"You guarded my father for years. He trained you. He trusted you. I'm asking you to keep your post as my guard."

Cedric blinked. "Sir…I…Majesty."

Jean didn't care about what happened; or rather he didn't blame him for the poisoning. His father had been threatened and, on a few occasions, attacked over the years Cedric guarded him but no one ever came close to Gaspard. Cedric was a good bodyguard. "Yes or no, Cedric de Rouen?"

Cedric managed to form a clear thought and nodded. "Yes."

Jean smiled and extended his hand to him. "Excellent."

**

Philippa looked like an Empress although she wouldn't sit on the throne unless the worst happened. "I told Cyril about Gustav," she announced and Jean simply grunted. "As expected he wasn't thrilled and you can be certain that the rest will even less."

When it came to the Council of Heralds he wasn't bothered. They overestimated their influence. "Laurent will understand."

Philippa shook her head. Laurent may have been Gaspard's former brother-in-law but he didn't always come down on the expected side. "Do you have any idea how naïve you sound, Cousin?"

Jean put the quill down and growled. "Pippa, I am not in the mood. He accused me of killing my father and I will not let that stand."

"Mother was right…all the men in the de Chalons line act the same," she scoffed. "Stubborn fools."

"Did you want something, Pip?" he demanded and he reminded her of her grandfather.

"You know what I want," she replied and he rolled his eyes.

He could have bet money on how long this was going to take to come to the surface. He was mildly offended that she was going after this less than a week after his father was killed. "No. Not this again. I am not getting into this now, Philippa. Your father said no, my father said no, can you guess what I'm going to say?"

She gave him the famous de Chalons 'look' the women of the family had mastered and it could unnerve anyone. "Don't be an ass, Jean. You don't like him because he's Lady Mantillon's son and your father's dislike for her has colored your opinion of Julien."

She wasn't entirely wrong. He had other things against Julien but most of it had to do with him walking in on Pippa and Julien in a compromising position a few hours after being told to stay away from each other. Julien was lucky to still have a head after that and the only reason he did was because of her. Jean kept his word and didn't tell his father. "You have no idea what he's really like."

Philippa wanted to slap him or punch him. The men in her family were beyond stubborn. "You're wrong, Cousin," she hissed in an icy tone. She'd loved Julien since the minute she met him. "I know him better than you, believe it or not."

He didn't want to know Julien as well as she did. "No."

"Don't be a spiteful ass, Jean," she scolded and he got to his feet. Growing up he'd actually spent more time with Philippa then he did with his younger sister. He and 'Pippa' or 'Pip' were the same age and spent the majority of their time in Verchiel while Charlotte spent most of her time in Val Royeaux. Unlike Jean, Charlotte was born in the Royal Palace not at the ancestral family estate. Not many had the gumption to talk to him like this so he wasn't exactly shocked or offended when she did. "He caught your father's killer and was injured in the process."

She had a point. Julien had been exceptional in apprehending the assassin. "He's below your station." It was a lame excuse and even he knew that.

Philippa rolled her eyes at the cop out. "Then elevate him."

Jean glowered. "And he's an entitled ass." That wasn't a cop out. That much was true and she knew that he could be extremely disagreeable at times but he was completely different with her.

Now her cousin was just being spiteful but he was the head of the family and all the matrimonial matches with the royal family needed to go through him now. "Jean!" she snapped irritated with him now.

He growled loudly and gave in. "Fine…" he relented in a loud, irritable tone. "I'll think about it."

"Jean," she pressed and he held up his hands to placate her.

"I said I will think about it, Pip, I promise," he repeated and made a better effort at sounding like he was actually going to reevaluate the previous decree. Philippa smiled, curtsied and left.

It had been a long day, it was late, and Julien had been ordered to rest and let the antidote work. He tried to avoid mirrors…he had a bruise on one side of his face from the punch and the stitched up cut on the other side. He was lucky his helm was on when the limb of the bow hit him…his injuries could have been a lot worse.

Julien grumbled in pain from his cheek. He was marked for life now unless he could find a healer mage to restore his once clean face. The cut would heal, the assassin would be killed, and the Emperor was safe. His work for the day was done. The door to his chamber opened and closed quietly, he heard it and gave a half smile knowing who had just invaded his privacy. He turned and the faced the Duchess Philippa.

"That looks awful," she said in a voice full of concern and gentle sympathy.

"I'll heal," he replied as she gently touched the tender damaged cheek. The wound had been cleaned and stitched but he didn't flinch at all when she lightly touched him. Chevaliers understood pain. There was a whole course during training to get them used to it and use it. No one liked that course. He leaned down and kissed her gently since the simple act of kissing hurt like hell.

**

It came time for Jean to pay a visit to the guest in the prison. His nerves could be seen for miles, his throat was dry as he swallowed. He was angry, enraged, but scared out of his mind. He was met by Michel and Cecil just outside the interrogation room. That was the nice word for it, most just called it a torture chamber.

"Anything?" he managed to ask Cecil.

"Not a peep," he answered. "Sweep of the Palace found a dead servant along his route of escape. Further investigation found another servant missing; a young chamber maid named Alice has been missing for the past few days. Others saw her with a man matching his description."

"Missing since when?" Michel asked.

"Last time anyone saw her was the night the Emperor was killed."

"Probably used her as an unwitting participant, a chamber maid would have access to the wine," Michel postulated. "More than likely killed her to cover his tracks."

They both judged Jean's body language. He looked like a coiled snake. "Palace guards are searching," Cecil added.

Jean moved past them and entered the cell. The assassin was an average looking man in his 30s, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. This was the man who'd killed his father. His right arm was broken but had been set by a healer and wrapped up. He looked like he was in pain. The interrogator was not gentle and more than likely went after the obvious wound. When it came to broken bones you had to be careful when you used them to force a confession. They bled a lot internally and caused significant pain, most passed out but occasionally people died. The interrogator, or torture master, knew his job.

Jean should have been as far away from that man as possible. He had a temper and he wasn't sure how he would handle himself in this situation. Cecil knew that Jean drew a great deal of strength from his training, to remain calm and collected; the Duke feared he wouldn't be able to control himself. "Majesty-…" Cecil began and Jean held up his hand to silence him.

The assassin was bound, broken arm or not. On his good hand he was missing a few finger nails and that was just the beginning of his nightmare. When the assassin looked up at him all measure of control Jean had vanished. He grabbed his throat pulling him from the seat and punched him hard across the jaw. It felt good. It felt really good so the young Emperor hit him again. With each punch the power increased, the brutality increased. "Who are you?" he roared loudly when it dawned on him to actually ask a question.

The assassin had kept his mouth shut so far but under the 'civilized' veneer of Orlais lay severe brutality, torture and punishment that would turn the stomach of anyone. "Majesty," he heard Michel warn.

"Give me that," he snapped snatching the knife from the interrogator. Jean was bigger than the assassin and he pinned his head down on the table. "Who sent you?" He poised the blade to cut his ear off. "Talk!"

He didn't and as Jean sliced the ear off he heard Cecil bark at him. "Majesty!"

Jean ignored him. "Talk or you lose another piece. Who sent you?"

Still nothing and Jean pressed the pommel of the knife into the wound he created. The assassin screamed. "Jean-Fredric!" Cecil shouted again and again Jean ignored him. He turned the assassin's head and went after the remaining ear.

The knife cut slower this time as if etching the ear away instead of the clean slice and he broke. "Tevinter!" Jean stopped and as if commanded the assassin continued. "Artus Cicero's order."

Jean slammed the knife into the table in front of his eyes. "What was your command, coward? Kill my father, kill me, kill my sister?"

"Not the princess. The Order specified you and your father but not her," he stuttered out.

Jean took the other ear. The thought of what they might have had in store for his little sister made him even angrier. The assassin screamed again in agony. He wanted to do more but came to realization that he'd done too much already. He backed away as his temper began to subside. He handed the knife to the interrogator and fled the room. He should never have done that. He had to get out of there, needed a wide open space and fresh air.

Through all his training and his upbringing Jean had always been taught to be kind and controlled. What he'd just done in there was nowhere near anything that he'd been taught. He was in such an emotional uproar by the time he left the dungeon tears of warring emotions streaked his face. He wiped his face smelling the blood on them, both his and the assassins, the knuckles of his right hand hurt and were bleeding. He would have killed that man in there. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to run away. Wanted to go back in there and gut him like a hunter would a fresh kill.

He did none of the above, instead he wretched in the hedges.

**

The sting of the warm water on his hand made Jean hiss, his knuckles were going to hurt like crazy for the next few days. It wasn't like he'd never been in a brawl before but it was the first time he'd nearly killed someone with his fists. Luckily, his mind cleared before he beat the assassin's face in.

"Jean, are you alright?" Bree asked and her voice startled him. He pulled his hand from the water splashing it everywhere and cursed in Orlesian. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and worked his sore hand. "It's alright."

What did you do?" she asked taking his hand in a cloth to dry it.

"Something I shouldn't have…" he answered. "Something I wanted to do…"

Cryptic but clearly something was on his mind. "I have a salve that should help. Do you want to talk about it?" she asked and stepped away from him to collect something from a bag she'd brought along.

Jean sat down and sighed heavily. "I nearly killed him when I saw him. I cut pieces off him to get him to talk." Bree was quiet and let him talk. She knelt down next to his chair and she opened the jar of ointment. "I want that man to die in the worst way."

"What is the usual punishment for regicide?" she asked knowing the answer was more than likely death.

"Death. Either beheading or hanging…other more creative ways too," he answered as she gently massaged his hand. The ointment she had did work, the pain began to soothe but the cuts and abrasions were still there.

There was a knock and Jean groaned. "Enter," he grumbled and grumbled more when he saw Cecil briskly step in. The Duke was mad, that much was clear.

The Duke bowed, the Emperor was barefoot and in what appeared to be bed clothes. Bree was still respectfully clothed otherwise Jean wouldn't have let him in. He still felt like he was intruding. "Majesty, may I speak plainly?" Jean grunted as his hand felt vastly better after Bree tended it. Cecil reddened, annoyed with Jean's casual manner after the display in the prison. "Privately."

He was referring to Bree and she moved to get up and leave them to their chat. "She stays." Bree didn't like the tone of their conversation. It was safe to infer that he'd done something that wasn't kingly.

Cecil stifled a huff. "Why do you want me as your advisor, Majesty, you don't listen to me?"

"I listen to you, Cecil, I trust you," he replied and Bree moved away. She didn't want to be present for an argument and she didn't want to see Jean angry.

"Then what was that in there?"

Jean stood sharply but Cecil didn't flinch at all. The young man was still upset. " _That_ was the man who killed my father. He deserved every bit that he got and if I had more in me he'd be dead."

"I'm rather glad you didn't." Cecil admitted. Jean was a soldier, a warrior, a patriot, not a murderer.

"He will die though," Jean added and Cecil scoffed at the bluster of youth. "In the most painful way I can figure."

The Duke sighed. Jean was just like his father. "This is your rule, Jean, mind how you begin it."

"Maker, Cecil, enough," he griped, annoyed. "The man murdered my father, tried to kill me, and who knows what they had planned for my sister. Not to mention that these bastards are the same ones who tried to kill the Lady Inquisitor and Lord Dorian, I will use him to send a message. That is the end of it."

"As you wish, Your Majesty, may I be excused?" Cecil's proper words were curt and Jean nodded. The Duke left as swiftly as he'd entered. "I'm sorry, bichette."

Bree came from behind the privacy wall in a shif. "You never have to apologize to me," she smiled at him. "You look tired, Jean, you should sleep."

He would love to just sleep. "I can't sleep," he answered honestly.

Bree simply wanted him to relax and she ran her hand up his back and around his waist. "Well, in that case," she flirted with him.

He looked down at the hands under his shirt and teasing the waistband of his trousers. "What kind of a monster did I create?" he asked with an approving smile and turned round to face her.

She giggled. "Why don't you find out."

Jean purred brushing her cheek with his right hand. "Thank you." She blinked at that unsure of what he was thanking her for. "You saved my life." She smiled and he kissed her. His Queen.

**

Cecil may have irritated him the night before but the man did have a point, he lived the Chevalier code and didn't normally bend. Torture was not in their code despite what people thought, Jean's behavior was so far off the mark he couldn't even see it.

He still hadn't slept well even with Bree trying her best to help. He smiled to the memories of the night before. He did create a monster. While she slept he stared at the ceiling, all he wanted to do was kill the assassin and that was when he made his decision. He was going to send a message to Tevinter and to the rest of Thedas.

It took all of Jean's control not to kill the assassin chained to the wall in his cell. He stepped in and approached him. The assassin, who remained nameless, simply looked at him. He'd been beaten and abused, some of it by him, some by Julien, the rest from the interrogator. His face was swollen, eyes were black and blue, hands were missing most of their fingernails, and then there were the missing ears. Jean didn't care. He'd been tended to post beating, someone had bandaged him. Still the assassin was defiant and held his glare.

"You committed regicide," Jean said and stood in front of the dark haired man. "You murdered my father, a man who secured peace in southern Thedas for years. He was the greatest Chevalier Orlais has ever seen. He was a father of two and a good man." The assassin said nothing. "You murdered him. The way a coward kills…you didn't have the spine to make the attempt with honor and you did the same with me," he finished as the assassin still held his glare. He was a proud man, tough, and disciplined. Torture broke the majority of people and, quite frankly, Jean didn't hold that against him. "And for that…I will kill you the same way. As a spectacle in front of everyone…you will be pulled apart one little piece at a time. You will be able to see what you look like on the inside before you die and then you will be quartered and sent back to Tevinter."

The assassin remained calm but it was evident that he wasn't comfortable with it. Who would be? Being drawn and quartered wasn't a fun thought for anyone and Jean was clearly there to pass his sentence. No one had been executed in this fashion in Orlais in more than 40 years. The Chantry condemned it. The assassin remained silent, however, but his uncomfortable reaction was enough. "You will die screaming, Assassin, and I will be there to hear it."

He left the prisoner and thought of the ramifications his decision would bring. He could hear Cecil now and knew the Chantry would be all over him. When he thought of his father he went to the one place he hadn't been yet. The sisters had tended and wrapped Gaspard's body, he lay under guard in the Chantry awaiting the funeral. Now that the threat had been addressed they could lay their former emperor to rest properly. The body had been guarded heavily and still was, ten of the Emperor's Guard stood their post and bowed respectfully when Jean entered. Plans for the funeral had been in the works by the Chantry the entire time and he tuned out the sisters doing their chores around him.

Jean sat down next to the casket and thought. It was strange to think that his father wouldn't be around to correct him on his manners or critique him on his horsemanship and combat. Ever since he was a little kid his father always had something to say about whatever he was doing. He leaned back against the stone and sighed heavily. All the times he'd thought about what it would be like to ascend, all the things he felt should be done differently were now within his power. Orlais needed to change and as he thought of that he thought of Tevinter. He was going to burn that country to the ground and use his whole damn army to do it.

"Jean," a voice began bringing him from his thoughts.

He turned his attention to the familiar voice, the voice of his best friend. "What?" his response was plain and resigned.

Etienne was respectful in the presence of Gaspard's casket and spoke in the soft tone to respect the Chantry. "I don't mean to disturb you but…something's happened in Starkhaven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that was rough. Gaspard was a favorite of mine in Inquisition and in Masked Empire. Thank you for reading and feedback is appreciated.


	25. Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh this chapter almost killed my brain. It's done, it's over with, and here ends Act Two. 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the reviews. Feedback is appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Dragon Age  
"The Relic"

 

Chapter Twenty Five: Sebastian

 

Sebastian had two daughters; Meghan and Agnus. Meghan was his oldest at nearly 16 and his named heir. She was like him, had his eyes but looked like her mother, and she was also a gifted archer just like he was. Agnus was 11 years old and decidedly not like him. She looked like Evelyn and was the more mild of the two.

Agnus sat in front of him in the saddle since she'd much rather ride this way on Silver then on her own horse. Agnus wasn't the best equestrian but Sebastian was happy to spend any amount of time with his youngest daughter. He believed that his children should have a means to defend themselves and thus far had them both training or trained in archery. Meghan embraced it but Agnus was barely interested. She was more interested in books and legends then she was in combat and horseback riding.

One of his guards followed leading her horse. "Can we go home now?" she asked and Sebastian looked down at her with a slight smile.

"You need to take your nose out of those books on occasion, my dear," he replied.

She disagreed. "But why out here? I'm not good with the bow," she complained.

"Some form of combat or defense is a valuable tool, Agnus, your mother is proficient with sword and bow, as is your sister, the bow is a smart person's weapon-…"

"Because you can defend your Keep without opening the gates," she finished in an imitating tone. "Yes, Dad, I know."

Sebastian chuckled. She'd clearly heard the speech before.

"When's Balian coming back?"

Sebastian paused before answering. Meghan had been grumpy since he left and Agnus teased her sister incessantly about it. "I don't think he is coming back. I'm sorry."

Agnus braided a chunk of Silver's mane as they walked down the wooded path and into the clearing. "Why'd he leave? The way Meghan talks about it you'd think he betrayed us all."

Sebastian couldn't say he didn't miss his friend. Balian had been around for so long it was weird to have him gone. He snorted to the reaction of his eldest. Meghan was angry with Balian when had left, the girl'd had a crush on the Elf for a long time. "He left for love." Too many 'what ifs' invaded his mind and his mind circled back to his death. He still hadn't dealt with that completely. It was the biggest reason for him wanting to spend a lot of time with his family.

Something hit his chest hard enough to spook Silver making the stallion jump. Between Silver's surprised hop and the force of the impact he came off over Silver's rump and down onto the trail. Agnus came with him and when he looked down while trying to protect her he saw an arrow. "NO!" he shouted. He tried to move her off him but the arrow had gone through her and into him. It penetrated his leathers but not the chainmail underneath. He managed to free himself and laid her down assessing the wounds. Sebastian was generally a very level headed man, it was a good quality in him but right now it was nothing short of panic.

"No! Agnus!" The arrow was a war arrow. Big and designed to kill man and beast in armor, fired off a longbow it was the deadliest arrow an archer could use. His guards were in frenzy, he heard shouting as someone spied the archer and gave chase. "Agnus!" The huge arrow had gone directly through her heart and killed the little girl instantly. "No!" he roared. The panic was replaced by overwhelming grief and then by absolute rage. Whoever fired that arrow had to be still within striking distance…very long striking distance. "Madrigal!"

"My Lord, there!" Madrigal indicated pointing to the figure that was on a black horse moving further away. His bodyguard was still mounted and calm…for the most part.

Sebastian's anger blinded him. Someone just killed his daughter, his little girl. He moved with purpose to Silver, and took up his ancestral bow, his grandfather's bow. The Starkhaven Longbow.

Sebastian's bow was a warbow almost the same height as him and had a nearly 100 pound draw giving it the ability to kill a man, even at a significant range, and that was before the enchantments. He pulled a heavy arrow from the quiver and nocked the quarter pound broadhead. When he drew he sighted his target then aimed upward in a high arch to let physics and gravity carry the war arrow to its destination. Sebastian's back muscles engaged as he drew the heavy bow to full, he exhaled and released in a quick but smooth motion. The broadhead launched from the longbow with only a faint whistle.

There was no greater archer in Thedas then Sebastian Vael, Seeker Ashton Reyne liked to think he could outshoot the Prince but that wasn't the case. Sebastian could count on one hand how many times he missed when it counted and as soon as he released the black fletched arrow he knew it would land where he wanted it. The arrow followed the trajectory like it was on a line and from the distance he saw it find its target. The archer crumpled to the ground off the black horse and Sebastian turned to his guards.

"Go!" he ordered with a roar and they took off at a gallop.

Sebastian turned to Agnus. Madrigal looked at him absolutely horrified. She dismounted not knowing what to do. The little girl was dead.

**

Dorian could teach a class on how to sulk. He'd been sulking for a week or so after the news that Jean did exactly what Dorian dreaded. He went ballistic for a good hour or so but eventually calmed down and settled into a bout of sulking that made everyone laugh. His sulking was interrupted by the tragic news from Val Royeaux a week or so later, Gaspard was dead. Khrys took that hard, she'd bonded with the Emperor and he'd become such a great ally and friend to her. The full extent of her relationship with Gaspard de Chalons was known only to Khrys and Gaspard, no one had expected them to be so close or to see eye to eye on nearly everything but they had. She led the Inquisition and supported Orlais unconditionally as Gaspard always had for her. Losing him hurt her deeply.

When she'd received that news she cried and wished Michel was with her but also thanked the fact that her lover was near her daughter. If anyone could protect her it was him. She still wished for his comfort. News of her daughter's engagement was overshadowed, unlike Dorian, she was pleased with the match.

"Another letter from Michel?" Dorian asked with a smirk as he poured a glass of wine. "Is it at least a naughty letter?"

Khrys wished it was to be honest, it seemed like moments after she came back from months on the road he was now gone. "No," she replied and Dorian scoffed.

His smirk grew, Michel may have seemed like the prim and proper Orlesian, but like any man, time away from a lover took its toll. "Really?"

Michel was more action then he was talk. "He'll wait until he comes back," she replied with a flirtatious grin. "Orlesian men know what a tongue is for."

Dorian choked on the wine and looked down at her. "Had to wait until I took a drink?" he accused. Khrys smiled and cracked open the seal on a letter from Starkhaven, a smaller letter addressed to Balian was within. "You should marry him."

Khrys' eyes only flicked to him for a moment then she returned to the letter. "This is for Bail," she said passing it to him knowing he would see him before she did.

Ignoring his comment was normal. Despite his feelings toward him, Michel was good to her. "What does the Holy Prince have to say this time?" Dorian inquired. "Seeing as how his last letter spawned so much fun."

As she read the letter he watched her face fall, something on the page was very bad news. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?" She couldn't bring herself to read it out loud and passed it to him, so much bad news lately…nothing but bad news. Dorian read it quickly and his expression mirrored hers. "I need to tell Balian."

**

A brand new chest plate had been finished and delivered to Balian, now he had all his armor on the stand in their quarters. He examined it, fitted it, and examined it further. Skyhold's armorer rivaled Master Wade from Denerim and Dagna was better than any arcanist he'd ever met. The silverite was molded perfectly but it was the mail and jerkin that was going to take some time to fit like the old one. He heard Dorian enter as he adjusted a buckle but didn't turn.

"Balian," Dorian began and only received a distracted grunt from his lover. "Balian, something's happened in Starkhaven." He knew exactly how Balian was going to take this…poorly. It was only the magnitude he questioned.

At that he turned and gave him a curious look taking the offered letter from him. He opened it and saw only a single sentence written in Sebastian's hand. _"Agnus is dead and I need you, Brother."_

Balian didn't sleep at all, he packed. He packed up his belongings and made sure his armor was ready on the stand. Dorian didn't even try to stop him but he knew that the dream of having Balian in Skyhold just ended. He was going back to Starkhaven and more than likely going to stay there.

The sun hadn't even come up yet and Balian was in the stables preparing Biscuit for his return to Starkhaven. The letter addressed to him was vague. The letter addressed to Khrys gave more detail. An assassin killed Agnus, by accident or not. He should never have left Starkhaven.

"Balian," Thom said from Biscuit's stall door. "Khrys wanted to see you."

Balian patted his horse's neck. "Can you finish for me? Long trip to Starkhaven." Thom nodded.

All Khrys ever wanted was to have at least some semblance of peace and quiet. If it wasn't one thing it was another. Sebastian was an ally and a friend, the idea that his youngest child had been assassinated made her stomach turn. She couldn't imagine that.

"Charter, I want you to send a hundred messages to Alistair. Do not stop until you get a response. Tell him to be prepared for something to happen. They're hitting the powers of Thedas, we already lost Gaspard and hopefully Jean can keep it together. We can't lose Alistair or Lydia."

The spymaster nodded, she was already in the process of doing just that and contacting other allies and spies across Thedas. "Blackwings are already on the way. Additional communication from Starkhaven says their assassin is alive…possible we can get more information from them."

Khrys' attention turned to the others that were there. "Zevran, interested in going to Starkhaven and interrogating one of your kind?" Khrys asked and the Elf gave a snort.

Zevran was far from offended. Assassins were supposed to be the best of their trade and were paid to be precise. This one killed a little girl. "It would be my genuine pleasure, sweet Khrystabel."

Dorian rolled his eyes. Part of him liked Zevran and part of him wanted to punch him, once for himself and once for Michel.

"I'll go too," Tess added and Zevran gave her a strange look but said nothing. Given the relationship with Sebastian he didn't understand why she'd go willing to Starkhaven.

Khrys was fine with that but someone else needed to go as well, someone who could get as much information from an unwilling target as possible. "Take Cole too."

When Balian joined them he looked like he was already ready to travel. Dorian wasn't surprised but he also didn't look happy about it. Balian going back to Starkhaven could be permanent, especially with everything that had happened to Sebastian after the Elf left.

"Can I assume you're going to Starkhaven for a while?" Khrys asked her clansman and the Elf nodded quietly. She saw his simmering anger barely beneath his calm veneer. "Take Tess, Cole, and Zevran with you." Balian's eyes flicked to those she wanted, or had volunteered, to go. Zevran was the one he was unsure about but again he gave a quiet nod. "And I don't want to sound crass but make sure Sebastian doesn't do anything stupid in response to this."

Balian's head cocked slightly, a sign Dorian knew well, he was offended. " 'Stupid in response to this'? You mean in response to his youngest child being murdered in front of him?"

Khrys returned his look. "Balian, that's not what I meant and you know it," she said sternly. "He can't attack Tevinter on his own."

Dorian had to agree. "She's right, Amatus. They'll respond and they'll run right over him and that is exactly what Prisca and Artus want." Balian was annoyed and Dorian could see it. "Remember. They want to provoke someone into attacking Tevinter directly so the Archon will declare war."

Balian understood and nodded although he wanted to snap at both of them but he knew Sebastian too well to think that he'd just sit by and let anyone get away with this. "I understand," he replied curtly and then addressed his apparent travelling companions. "We leave at dawn."

"It's going to be hell getting down the mountain," Cullen put in as he finally joined them. "It's been snowing all night. If anyone wants off the mountain for the winter I'd suggest leaving with Ser Balian."

"Bail, stop," Balian had a singular focus that worried Dorian. When he was angry he simmered quietly…it was not a good sign. "I know you're angry and I know I can't stop you from leaving but please be careful, Amatus."

Balian had no intention of daring Falon'Din for a third time. "I'll be careful," he told him, placing his right hand on Dorian's cheek. "I love you."

Cullen had been right. It was a bitch getting off the mountain. This time of the year whoever was in Skyhold typically stayed there until the passes opened back up in spring. The snow was nearly chest deep on the horses and that was with engineers trying to maintain it as long as possible. The snow was still falling when they finally got down to Herald's but Balian didn't want to stay and shake the snow off. He wanted to get to Starkhaven quickly so they pressed on to the road to Jader.

Just because they were off the mountain didn't mean they were out of the cold. The valley was colder, channeling the wind. Zevran bitched up a storm and Balian really couldn't blame him. Tess and Cole said nothing and after a while everyone turtled up into their coats and cloaks and shuffled out of the valley. The road to Jader was clear and well-travelled, normally, now it had a foot of snow on it from an early winter storm.

**

Starkhaven mourned, bells rang as per their custom and vigils were held. The people loved their sovereign and were devastated by the vile act. The mood of the palace was a somber as they came and Sebastian processed his grief in the appropriate stages…and sometimes all at once.

The assassin was an unassuming man, despite his crime he hadn't been touched and had actually been treated. Sebastian was a pious man and the Chantry dictated that he treat his enemies with mercy. The broadhead had struck him high in the back on the right side, it caused significant pain but the healers were able to remove it and pack the wound. He hadn't been treated any better or worse and was now chained to a wall.

Now face to face with the man who murdered his daughter his sense of charity and mercy was dissipating rapidly. It was when he locked eyes with the man that his control broke. "My daughter was 11," Sebastian growled. "And you murdered her!" His hands were around his throat and squeezing tighter and tighter. "She was innocent!"

"Sire." Madrigal said simply trying to stop him from going too far. The Prince was slowly choking the life from him and they hadn't gotten any information yet. It was almost like Sebastian hadn't heard her, he did hear her, he just wanted to kill him. "Sebastian," she said again and the Prince released him but it took all he could to do it.

He wasn't a killer. He'd killed but never out of pure rage or malice. He killed to retake his home and avenge his family, personally executed the Duke of Wycome, and watched as Balian killed the Duke of Markham in his name, he'd wanted to kill Anders in the worst way, but this was the first time he wanted to tear someone apart. He wasn't a killer and he remembered that.

**

For Balian, seeing Starkhaven in the distance was a homecoming. He loved the city and its people. The first time he saw it was when he returned with Sebastian after championing for him in Ostwick, it was beautiful then and it was beautiful now. As they drew closer to the Free Marches largest city peasants recognized him and bowed. He wasn't a lord or nobility but he was Ser Balian the Champion of Starkhaven. No one stopped them or hassled them, all they needed to see was the big cream colored horse ridden by the Elf in silverite still bearing the Vael family crest.

"I can't tell if they love you or fear you," Zevran commented as he observed them all.

There was a simple answer. "Kirkwall fears me. Starkhaven does not." Starkhaven had nothing to fear from him unless they intended the Vael family harm, Kirkwall, on the other hand, feared him plenty. All the times he rode into that city under a Starkhaven banner was because he was ordered to do so and when Sebastian sent him it was never a delightful outcome for Kirkwall.

The city itself was strategically positioned in such a way they used the Minanter River as a moat. Modeled after Minrathous, the city occupied an island that the river flowed around with the only entry point being an enormous draw bridge. The city was ringed by a high curtain wall, and then an inner wall, with the palace at the center above the rest for the city ringed with another wall. Tess, Cole, and Zevran followed Balian as he entered the city with absolutely no fuss, the guards saluted when he passed and people got out of the way. They rode up the main road which split the island down the middle and gently inclined the whole way.

Zevran had flashbacks to roaming around Minrathous. The lower ring was the poorest section with working class taverns, homes, and shops. The middle ring was upper class like Hightown in Kirkwall. The city was made of marble, gold, and polished granite. "What does Varric call this place?" Zevran asked.

"Pretentious," Tess answered seeing Balian cock his head back slightly at the insult. He didn't respond…the fact of the matter was that Starkhaven was the safest city in all the Free Marches. Tess had never been to Starkhaven, oh Anders would be turning in his grave right now.

The last gate they approached was heavily guarded and closed but opened when the guards saw Balian approach. "Ser Balian," a guard greeted at the gate. "The prodigal bodyguard returns."

This was the Captain of the Guard. He was a blonde, handsome man, who really didn't like Elves. "I was recalled, Loomis," he replied simply as the Guard Captain looked to the rest of the group. One had a cowl up and had blades on his back and a quiver and a bow tied to the horse. Another rogue was in the back looking as forgettable as ever and then there was a woman, definitely a mage. "Who are they?"

Balian urged Biscuit one and into the palace's lower courtyard. "Not your concern." He wasn't in the mood to practice his patience with Loomis.

"Leave them be, Loomis." A girl's voice ordered with all the authority of someone older than 16. Loomis bowed to her.

"As you command, Lady Meghan," Loomis replied and returned to his post.

Balian dismounted and stable hands fluttered in to take all the horses to the stables. He sighed heavily, he was not looking forward to facing those he believed that he'd failed or at the very least abandoned.

"Ser Balian's return," Meghan said with her quiet tone of contempt. The same tone Sebastian used when he was mad. Meghan didn't scream and yell when she was mad, she just got quiet…just like her father. "You should have been here." More contempt.

He agreed. "I know," he replied and looked at the ground. His pride was no match for his misplaced guilt. "I'm sorry, Meg." The heiress stepped toward him and hugged him. She hadn't cried yet, of that he was certain. She never cried, not even when he had to retrieve her from her kidnappers. She killed two men that night and she never cried. She was family to him. After a moment she let him go and looked over the rest of his party. "Tess, Cole, Zevran, this is Lady Meghan."

Zevran still had the cowl up but gave his signature bow as Cole and Tess nodded to the girl. Quite frankly, Meghan wasn't interested in his entourage and practically ignored them.

The Starkhaven palace was a baby compared to Val Royeaux, Fort Drakon, and Skyhold but it was grand. The smooth, marble, gold, and granite had a darker tone than that of Val Royeaux giving it a more ominous feel. Tapestries of red and black decorated the palace, colors of the Vael family and of Starkhaven.

"Balian," a very familiar voice said drawing his attention to the top of a set of steps. It was Evelyn Vael, Princess of Starkhaven. Despite the situation, and what he was certain was a rough few weeks, she looked amazing. Evelyn was always beautiful but he could see the sadness, her kind eyes were full of sorrow and it killed him to see it.

"My Lady," Balian bowed when he saw her. "I'm sorry." She disregarded his bow and hugged him. "Where is he?"

Having Balian back felt right and she was comforted just by his presence. "The Chantry," she answered holding him tight for a few lingering moments. The palace didn't seem the same without him.

Balian could have guessed that and stepped back from the Princess. "Evelyn, this is Zevran, Cole, and Tess," he introduced quickly. "The Inquisitor sent them to help."

She nodded zeroing in on Tess, the woman Sebastian had had a crush on in Kirkwall, the woman who married his nemesis. Evelyn had always been good at setting her feelings aside but having Anders' wife in Starkhaven just seemed wrong. "I'll have the servants prepare rooms for you all. Thank you for coming."

**

Sebastian wasn't praying, not at the moment, he was sitting quietly in the Chantry just lost in his own thoughts. He'd buried his daughter a week ago and just couldn't let any of it go. What happened against Solas shook his faith, what happened to his daughter practically destroyed it.

"Sebastian?" a voice said breaking the silence.

He turned and found his loyal friend, he'd answered his call. Sebastian tried not to blame anyone of this staff. It was tough to blame Madrigal although she blamed herself. She was his bodyguard and managed to let someone kill her sovereign's daughter. With the exception of Meghan's kidnapping no one came close to threatening his family. The Elf sat down next to him. "You came."

The Vaels' were his family so losing Agnus hurt him deeply. "Of course I did. I am so sorry…," he found he'd been saying that a lot to the family. "I should have been here. I should never have left."

Sebastian wasn't going to argue that in anyway. "I've been here all night…do you know what I've been thinking of?" he asked. "The same thing I have been thinking of for the past two weeks…how many ways I can kill that man in the dungeon."

Sebastian wasn't a killer. He killed when he had to but he wasn't what his detractors made him out to be. "I'll do it for you," Balian volunteered.

He missed talking to Balian, hearing his perspective, or just being there to vent to. So much had happened, so much that he knew Balian blamed himself. "I died," he said after a moment of silence. "Malcolm brought me back… but I died and I saw nothing, no light, no Maker, not even Andraste…Agnus was the price," the Prince said and Balian shook his head.

He's never seen Sebastian so shaken…never seen him unsure of his faith. "None of this was your fault. None of this, Brother," he insisted putting a hand on his shoulder. "And I promise you, Evelyn, and Meghan that in Agnus' name I will kill every last one of them."

It was more comforting to here than Balian realized and Sebastian gave him a nod. "You have a plan?"

Balian smiled. He's been thinking about this the whole way, Cole would be extremely helpful in interrogating the assassin but Zevran would be invaluable. "I brought along the best person to dismantle an assassins guild." Who better than the man who single-handedly took the Antivan Crows apart?

Sebastian cocked his head slightly unsure of his meaning.

**

The first night spent in Starkhaven was a quiet one. Most were tired and the mood of the palace was as depressing as they came. As tired as Balian was he didn't sleep, he tried but he wound up staring at the ceiling so he roamed the palace. There was something he needed to do.

Tess wasn't asleep either, her chambers were warm and comfortable but she couldn't help the feeling that she shouldn't be here. In Kirkwall she'd enjoyed Sebastian's company but gravitated to Anders, she loved Anders deeply and the idea of being here felt wrong.

The palace was quiet, depressing actually, it was hard not to be, the loss of a child could cast a dark shadow over anything. She wandered and found that she wasn't the only one not sleeping. If she was Sebastian she wouldn't be sleeping either. It hurt to have Anders gone.

"I'm sorry" she said quietly and Sebastian stood.

"Tess," Sebastian greeted and had strongly mixed feelings upon seeing her. He'd heard about what happened to Anders and admittedly felt a pang of sorrow. Anders, crazy as he was, wasn't a bad man…he'd just made some questionable choices. His son was the true gem. He owed Malcolm everything but Tess…Tess was someone he once had very strong feelings for and lost her to Anders.

"Sebastian," she acknowledged in kind. "I'm sorry about your little girl."

The Prince swallowed hard and couldn't find the right thing to say, anything he said about Anders could be construed as a lie. "I…"

"You don't have to say it," she cut him off. "I know you're not sorry to hear he's gone."

Sebastian straightened. "I may not have liked him, Tess, but I care for you. I know how much you loved him and no one deserves to have that happen to a loved one," he told her. "Drink?"

She accepted his offer and stayed. "Apparently no one in this palace sleeps."

Sebastian grunted as he passed her a glass of the wine. "No one sleeps anymore," he admitted quietly. He certainly hadn't, not in a long while. "To those we've lost," he toasted.

**

The crypt was never somewhere Balian liked to be, the reason he was there was something he liked even less. He didn't like graveyards, burial grounds, or crypts but he paid his respects to the girl who learned Elvish from him. His bond was stronger with Meghan but Agnus always wanted to learn of the Elves and he was happy to share. There in the Vael family crypt he found the little girl's vault. The plaque on the wall freshly chiseled. 'Agnus Elthina Vael, daughter of Sebastian and Evelyn' He wished he could have been there. He cursed himself for not being there to do his duty. He let out a deep sad sigh as he put a hand on the epitaph.

_"Sun sets, little one, time to dream. Your mind journeys, but I will hold you here. Where will you go, little one, lost to me in sleep? Seek truth in a forgotten land deep within your heart. Never fear, little one, wherever you shall go. Follow my voice- I will call you home. I will call you home."_

"Mir Da'len Somniar," Evelyn said suddenly from behind him. "She loved that song…ever since you taught it to her."

"They both love it."

"She was so fascinated by you," she continued. "Uncle Balian…always asked why she wasn't an Elf."

He chuckled as she did, Agnus drew on her face when she was younger trying to copy his vallaslin. _"Merciful Falon'Din, shepherd the soul of this little one to safety. Allow her to know more peace in death than she knew in life,"_ Evelyn was silent as she let him pray. The girls weren't the only ones who he taught Elvish to. He placed the small wooden figurine he'd been whittling since Skyhold on the ledge below her epitaph. The figurine was an owl with spread wings, Falon'Din.

"Thank you, Balian," Evelyn said and patted his arm. "They are as much your children as they are ours." Her words felt both refreshing and horrifying.

There was still no sleep to be had for Balian and when he left the crypt he wandered the palace. Evelyn's words nearly haunted him. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. He protected those children like they were his own. Dalish tended to raise children communally and no matter how long he'd spent in Starkhaven he was Dalish first. If Evelyn's words were to be taken literally he failed as a guardian, he'd lost a child.

**

The morning brought a little bit of a better mood, not quite as somber but the cloud of Agnus' death remained. With Balian back, things went back to normal. He wasn't there a day and he'd assumed his position once again. Right now he was looking at Madrigal trying to make any questions he had not sound like an outright attack. The assassin struck from a distance outside the gates…difficult for anyone to guard against. He'd trained Madrigal; she was the person he'd always intended to take over if something were to happen. She was as tall as he was, had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and did not at all look like a warrior. But a warrior she was, proficient in nearly all forms of combat. She didn't know what to say to him, he recommended her for the position and she couldn't help but think she'd failed.

"I-…" she began and he cut her off before she finished.

"Don't apologize, Madi," he said firmly, a tone that she was very familiar with. "If you'd have let a man through with a knife I'd have your head on a pike already." He really wanted to demand where she was when Sebastian encountered Solas. For that grievous error he did want her head on a pike but he'd deal with that later.

The woman blinked to his response and believed every word. "I…"

"I said do not apologize," he cut her off again. "I will assume my previous role. I want an update on everything in the palace, watches and guard strength," he ordered quietly then sighed heavily. "And bring me Captain Loomis."

"Yes, Ser," she nodded and turned away leaving him there in his haunt.

Loomis was probably the only one in Starkhaven that wasn't happy with Balian's return. It wasn't that he didn't respect him, he just wasn't a fan of Elves and Balian was a favorite. He was the favorite and enjoyed ordering everyone around. Loomis respected his drive to ensure the family's safety but he was a pain in the ass when something wasn't right.

"Well, you've settled back in," Loomis commented, having been summoned his study. This was where he held his brief meetings to coordinate the personal guard. Loomis was the Captain of the Palace Guard so he regularly attended, reluctantly.

Balian didn't reply and simply handed him the paper he'd been writing. Loomis read it quickly and sighed. "My men are already distributed in a way that works."

"Change it up," he ordered. "Everything else is the same."

"Lavellan…I know you're angry about not being here and I understand that but what happened didn't occur in the palace. Why change up my guards?"

His answer was simple. "Because I said so," he told him. "Don't feel singled out I've changed up the city guard too."

"Terrific," he replied sarcastically. "Anything else, your Lordship?"

He wasn't a lord but the incorrect address didn't bother him. Loomis was annoyed and this was how he showed it since he wasn't allowed to act out against him. "No, Gareth, that'll be all."

"So good to have you back, Balian the Bear," he griped. Loomis gave an exaggerated bow and left. As Loomis turned he found Meghan and conducted a proper bow to her. "Lady Meghan."

Balian stood when he saw her but she waved him off. She was dressed in riding leathers although Balian was absolutely certain no one would let her out of the city after what happened with Agnus. "You look tired," she said and as soon as she said that the fact he hadn't slept in almost two days hit him all at once.

"That's because I am tired," he sighed and sat back down.

"You should sleep. You'll be no good to father exhausted."

"Wise words," he agreed. "Meghan, I'm sorry that I wasn't here. I'm sorry I wasn't with your father or with Agnus." Meghan listened. She owed Balian everything. He'd saved her life and taught her to defend herself. She loved him. "How are you?"

Meghan bottled her feelings up, just like he did but she didn't always. He noticed it after he retrieved her from Nevarra. "Fine," she replied with a manufactured smile that he didn't believe.

"Meghan."

Balian was the one that she couldn't lie to but wasn't in the mood to voice her feelings. "What's done is done. My feelings aren't going to change it." It sounded callous but he expected that from her.

"You know you can always talk to me. I'm not leaving again," he assured her and she gave a half smile he knew was real.

"What about Dorian?" she asked and now it was his turn to decide he was uncomfortable. He didn't want to fight with Dorian and didn't want to leave him either.

"New topic," he said changing the subject and stood. She observed him as he produced something wrapped in leather, a plain but elegant sword. "I have a gift for you. Skyhold has the best weaponsmith in Thedas…and arcanist. I was going to send you this but…"

Meghan took the weapon and gave a genuinely happy smile. The sword looked a bit like Balian's but it was missing the spikes. The crossguard was tooled with knot pattern common to Starkhaven, the blade was a strange green color. "What is it made from?"

"Veil Quartz," he answered. "Probably one of the rarest metals in the world, Skyhold has a stock of it."

Meghan was in awe, the sword was beautiful. "This must have cost a fortune."

In truth it didn't cost him anything, he was Khrys' cousin and Dorian's lover. All he did was ask. "It's a gift, Da'len."

"Thank you, Balian," she said and he heard her voice crack. The closest she'd get to crying in front of someone. Whether it was because of the gift or the fact that her sister was dead he didn't know or care. "I want to go for a ride."

"Not yet."

"Will you let me know when?" she asked and he nodded.

**

Zevran poked through the belongings of the assassin and found much of the same thing that he found with the Skyhold assassin and the description of the things the Orlesian one had. He didn't find anything serpentstone this time but found a truly magnificent longbow finely crafted and runed up and down the limbs.

He whistled. "I think I'll keep it," he hummed and heard Tess snort.

She considered Zevran a friend, a very close friend. She trusted her son to him and since Anders' death he'd been a true friend. Someone to talk to, and contrary to his reputation, had been a perfect gentleman. "Thought you favored short bows?" she asked as she leaned on the wall with her arms folded across her chest.

Zevran grinned as he tested the draw. It was heavy, very heavy even for a war bow. "I favor anything that gets the job done, Dear Champion," he replied. "All depends on the contract and the situation. May have to use it to fulfill my impossible contract," he muttered.

Tess knew of the contract from Lydia, it was suicide for Zevran to try to complete it considering he didn't know Solas. Tess knew Solas, not as well as Khrys, but she'd never encountered a mage anything like him. Zevran would get himself killed trying to fulfill the contract. "Tell the Warden-Queen 'no' to killing Solas…you'll get yourself killed." She didn't want anything to happen to Zevran, her list of friends was shrinking.

Zevran gave her a smile. He relished having so many women concerned for his safety. "I've never turned her down yet and I've never failed a contract she's given me."

"Because you're in love with her."

That was true but he didn't admit it out loud to many people. "Jealous?" he smirked.

Tess returned his smirk. "Hardly. You're not as irresistible as you think, Arainai."

He chuckled softly in response to that. "And yet you are here with me, bella."

"Zev."

"Sorry."

"Learn anything?" Sebastian asked as he appeared with Balian.

Zevran bowed respectfully to the Prince who simply waved him off. "Same as before, My Lord, no missives, no orders…equipment is the same though." Zevran commented. "And this is Quiet Death." He said holding up a vial of what was apparently poison. "As painful as it is to hear, Prince, your daughter felt no pain."

That didn't make him feel any better about the situation, the large arrow tore through her heart…she died instantly anyway. He blinked and looked at the floor briefly trying to shake the image. Tess understood the need to look away and attempt to get a handle on the moment. "Anything else?" he asked finally. Sebastian was still one of the strongest men that Tess knew, he was a pain in the ass and devout in his beliefs, but because of that he was physically and mentally strong.

"Not yet," the Elf answered. "I'll know more after I talk to him."

"What do you intend to get out of him?" Balian asked as Zevran pulled one of the war arrows from the quiver on the table and fiddled with it.

"Whatever I can. There has to be more than one and I suspect you know that," he answered testing the tip of the bodkin carefully.

Balian nodded. "We've gotten nothing from him and I won't torture the man as Orlais did," Sebastian said, as much as he wanted that man to die he wasn't going to stoop to the level of torture Jean-Fredric employed.

"Orlais tore that poor bastard apart…tortured him to get him to talk…but I have Cole."

**

The Starkhaven dungeon was probably the nicest one that Zevran had seen. It was dryer and better ventilated making it seem like it was in better condition. It was still a prison like anything else and included all the things one would expect; a wheel, a rack, hanging cages, and probably more than that. Even Skyhold had a torture chamber but the worst dungeon Zevran had ever been in was Rendon Howe's. It took months to purge that stench from his nose and he still hadn't forgotten what he'd seen.

The assassin had the element of clam that Zevran had expected, it was the training. The good assassin guilds spent years training their members. Zevran had been in training since he was 7 and the Antivan Crows were the best, he was tortured and beaten like all the rest and to this day never broke to torture. The Black Hand was a fine guild but they were mainly Mage Hunters, he would get what he wanted from him…it was only a matter of time.

The assassin appeared very calm for someone in their position. That was about to change but it gave Zevran a sense of the man. He was young, strong, had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and was otherwise forgettable.

"Well," Zevran began as the assassin eyed him in return, "you are in a very unenviable situation. Assassins are paid for precision. You failed miserably in that regard. Now Starkhaven may be a bit more lenient than Orlais in their punishment but have no illusions about it…you will die. Your only choice now is how useful you wish to be."

"Spare me," The assassin replied sounding unimpressed.

Zevran allowed a smile to his defiance. "Do you know who I am?"

The blonde Elf with the signature tattoo on the left side of his face, most assassins had at least heard of him, Zevran brought down the best assassins guild in the known world very nearly single-handedly. "Zevran Arainai," he answered. "The Black Shadow. Traitor."

The Elf grinned. "Ahh yes." He enjoyed all things he was called. "I especially like that last one, but enough about me. I know you failed in your mission but I also know that you are not the only one of your kind to fill that contract. Who is it?"

"You think I'll tell you?"

"You murdered a child with your incompetence," Zevran said, voice dripping with disdain, "For that alone I would happily tear you limb from limb as Emperor Jean-Fredric did to your counterpart."

"You didn't mean to kill the child." A voice suddenly said from the far corner of the room. The prisoner jumped, startled by the voice from nowhere. He could have sworn that Zevran was the only person who'd entered the cell. Zevran looked at Cole. "The shot was true. Strong gust of wind dropped the arrow too low."

The assassin was confused. "What! Who…"

"It would take far too long to explain," Zevran replied flatly. "Answer my question."

"No."

Zevran sneered. "You caused this. You were foolish enough to try to kill your target from such a distance without the skill to accomplish it. Tell me what you know."

"The Tevinter Imperium will rise to the pinnacle again." The assassin spat back.

Zevran growled and snatched the throat of the assassin with his left hand. "Then it will fall once again. But you will not live to see either. I know there are more of you. What is the plan? Where are they?"

"If you're going to kill me just do it," he managed under Zevran's strong grip.

Zevran released him and took a step back with an unsettling grin. "I'm not going to kill you, not yet. The rack!" he called and the heavy wooden door opened with an ominous sound.

**

Since she couldn't ride freely Meghan was stuck with riding in the paddock. She copied the generals, watched them work their warhorses. If she was to rule she would take after her father. She learned strategy and combat, archery from her father, and swordsmanship from Balian.

"She showed me the sword you gave her," Sebastian said as he appeared by him. Balian was leaning on the fence watching her lesson with Captain Drake. "Really, Brother, you shouldn't have."

Balian smiled and returned his attention to the maneuvers she was attempting to master. Finn, her bay mount, belonged to the man teaching her and was a spirited one. "It was no trouble. If she wants to protect this city and herself she will have the very best weapon I can give her."

Sebastian felt comforted by Balian's desire to protect his family. "Evelyn is with child."

It was surprising news. "Congratulations, my friend," he replied shaking his hand and giving him a friendly hug.

"A new niece or nephew for you to dote upon."

"What of her? She's almost of age."

Sebastian sighed, there was one big one a few weeks before the attack. "One from Denerim."

"Denerim…Duncan?" he questioned shocked and was a little confused. "But she's heir to Starkhaven…you'd marry her off to Fereldan?"

The same question Sebastian had when he'd first read it. The same thought Evelyn had. "An extremely beneficial marriage. Duncan is a fine man and I suspect Meghan will be extremely angry with me once I bring it up."

Meghan reminded Balian of Bree. They were very similar but he had the sense that they probably wouldn't get along. "She is very independent."

"She likes you better, why don't you tell her," Sebastian joked.

Balian scoffed loudly. "Are you kidding? I taught her how to use that sword."

**

Sebastian was not happy to hear that Zevran had resorted to torture, the Chantry frowned upon torture, but after two days on the rack he broke. It wasn't in Sebastian's nature to torture someone.

"I told you no torture," Sebastian admonished yet Zevran seemed unaffected by the Prince's scolding. "We are not Orlais."

"He knows nothing more," Cole said. "Agnus was an accident, you were the target."

"There are more assassins about, of that I am certain," Zevran added casually. "He doesn't know specifics but the contract was not fulfilled, there will be more."

Sebastian was annoyed, Zevran didn't get much more from the assassin then they had. "My family should not live in fear."

"Agreed, but the Black Hand have a finite number of people, Prince."

"Are you saying they'll just stop?" Balian inquired disbelievingly.

"No, of course not. They'll be more careful but they will try again," Zevran replied and Sebastian looked frustrated. There was no simple fix to the situation. "Continue with your family routine, they will try again and I will find them."

Zevran's relaxed tone angered Balian. "This is not a game, Arainai."

"I know that, but there is a reason that the Inquisitor sent Cole and I," Zevran reassured understanding Balian's frustration. His love for this family mirrored the love Zevran had for the Theirin's and the Hawke's. "Trust me."

Sebastian turned to Balian, he'd heard enough. Someone was going to pay for Agnus' death. "Gather the men, Brother, I will send word to Emperor Jean-Fredric that he now has an ally and that Starkhaven officially declares war on Tevinter.


End file.
